


Blackbird

by lostonthisisland



Category: Green Day
Genre: Abuse, Alternate Universe, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Slavery
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-12-20
Updated: 2017-09-01
Packaged: 2018-01-05 07:07:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 17
Words: 36,201
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1091028
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lostonthisisland/pseuds/lostonthisisland
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It didn’t seem fair. To ruin him like this. Too small to be a labor slave, now too ugly to be a bed slave. Who would ever want him?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Billie Joe slumped against the wood post he was tied to, the damp cedar cold against his bare back. It had been raining on and off all day and with no roof over his confines he was finding himself in a miserable, wet and constantly chilled state.

 

The market was quite dead, probably because of the poor weather. After six hours of standing in icy mud Billie’s body had begun to droop and his dead weight pulled at the plastic restraints on his wrists.

 

He was beginning to think it pretty foolish that somebody would buy him.

 

“Stand up straight, boy.” The slave merchant poked at his chest and Billie obeyed even as his sore feet and back flared in pain.

 

He stared out at the marketplace. A grey mist was hanging in the air and deep banks of wet mud had formed along the stony walk way. He could spot maybe three or four people off to the left where the park gates were. It was nicer over there, trees and grass and none of this slushy mud to walk through. Billie wracked his brain for a moment, trying to remember what he saw customers walk away with when they were over there. He thought that’s where the fruits and Danishes were sold.

 

Slowly, his vision swung back over to their far corner of the market, his section; the slaves. There were only three of them left today. It was Friday and that meant the market was closing over the weekend with the new shipment coming in early Monday morning.

 

They were the runts of the litter, Billie thought as his eyes strayed over to the other two slaves. An older woman with graying, tangled hair and another girl about his age, face scarred and deformed. Billie shuddered when he thought about how that may have happened. Odds are, her previous master. Someone sick and twisted who liked to torment his helpless, obedient little slave. A real power junkie.

 

Billie dropped his head onto his chest, his eyes roamed over his own scars. White and stark against his tanned stomach, jolting upwards like lightning. He followed them from his ribs up to his chest until he couldn’t see them anymore, knowing they only continued up his neck and face.

 

It didn’t seem fair. To ruin him like this. Too small to be a labor slave, now too ugly to be a bed slave. Who would ever want him?

 

Billie’s forehead began to feel itchy where his damp bangs clung and he shook his head a few times to free them. The market began to turn a sad purple-blue color and he knew it wouldn’t be too long until they packed him back up in the truck with the remaining slaves.


	2. Chapter 2

Mike Pritchard zipped up his jacket as the sun started to fade. A new cold settled over the market and he gave an involuntary shiver at it. He hated having to wait until Friday to do his shopping and was especially angry about it now that it had been such a crappy day.

 

Dumping the groceries into the backseat of his car, Mike stood and slammed the door shut, more than ready to get home and out of this cold weather. He was ready to climb in the driver’s seat when his cell phone rang. Digging it out of his pocket, Mike flipped the phone open and answered with an impatient, “Hello?”

 

“Oh, good, hi – are you still at the market… hopefully?”

 

It was his neighbor, Tré.

 

Mike’s shoulders slumped, he almost didn’t want to answer the question, “Yeah… why, what do you need?”

 

“Okay, I need some bread and some shampoo and some oranges and apricots – ooh, see if they have grapes, the green ones and-”

 

“Jesus Tré!”

 

“What? I’ll pay you back.”

 

Mike knew that they didn’t exactly live the plush life, it was one of the reasons they did their shopping at the marketplace where things were sold quite cheap – but he was getting a little annoyed of all the stuff he had to keep buying for his lazy ass friend. He knew Tré was good for the money, he always paid back. It was just that he didn’t always pay back on  _time_. And Mike had bills to pay.

 

He pulled out his wallet and looked at the meager contents, “Look man, I can only get you a few things, like... two things maybe, I need to pay rent on Monday alright?”

 

“Oh, yeah, okay – just get the shampoo and some oranges, man have I got a craving for them.”

 

“Time of the month?” Mike joked and made his way back through the market, the stones on the walk way crunching beneath his feet.

 

“Ha. Ha. No, it’s not that, smartass… but it might have something to do with all this weed I’m smoking.”

 

“Tré!”

 

“What?” He heard Tré laugh on his end of the line, “I’m kidding, I’m kidding. I can’t afford any weed right now.”

 

Mike snorted and clicked the phone shut. He quickly bought some two in one no name brand from a lady who was about to close and made his way over to the fruit stand.

 

Everyone seemed to be closing up shop and Mike apologized to the man behind the stand as he paid for three oranges and dropped them in the same bag as the shampoo.

 

He turned to make his way back to his car and groaned when he saw the slave pen a few yards ahead of him.

 

Mike hated the slave market. He’d grown up with old fashioned folks who believed no human should be treated like an animal and had raised their son to believe it as well. He found slavery wrong on so many levels and tried to avoid seeing people with them as much as he could. It helped, oddly enough, to be a lower-class citizen; where he lived not too many people owned slaves. Usually when they did they were part of someone’s business – an easier way to run things and they were treated decent.

 

Mike walked by slowly, his throat tightening as he watched the slave merchant shove one of his slaves into the back of a large white moving truck.

 

He suddenly felt so very wrong in this part of the market and he stopped as the rain started to pour down, the back of his neck prickling strangely.

 

He turned his head and saw a small slave tied up to the last post in the row. He was staring right at Mike. His black hair began to plaster to his scalp beneath the downpour and he shivered, small bony shoulders hunched together at an attempt for warmth. His large, dark eyes looked old and sad and they continued to stare at Mike through the rain, droplets falling unnoticed into them.

 

A cold chill ran through Mike and he hugged his jacket a little closer. Poor thing must be freezing, half naked as he was. How long had he been out in the cold like this?

 

“Hey.” Someone shouted through the rain and Mike jerked, head whipping toward the sound. It was the slave merchant, “You want him?”

 

“What?” He was a bit surprised he was being asked so bluntly.

 

“Half off.” The guy shouted back and Mike’s eyes swung back to the little slave, confused.

 

“Why?”

 

The slave merchant shrugged, “Can’t sell him.”

 

Mike stared a bit longer, understanding why. There was a large, scar spanning the slave’s side, it disappeared at the waistline of his shorts. It was a shame, really, but there wasn’t anything Mike could do about it.

 

“No thanks.” He called back and turned to leave, feeling the boy’s eyes hard on his back.

 

-//-

 

Billie Joe watched as his last ray of hope climbed into his car and drove away. His shoulders slumped and his head dropped in defeat. If he made it through the weekend alive he’d be up against a fresh, young batch of slaves for customers to choose from next week. There was no way he’d be first pick, or second, or third, or fourth…

 

The slave merchant untied Billie from his post and herded him toward the truck. Billie did his best to climb in on weak, trembling joints. One thing he could look forward to was getting out of the rain. But he knew the second he was back at the warehouse the workers there would start using him again.

 

When he’d seen that man looking toward the slave posts he’d really had a glimpse of hope. He thought that maybe this time someone would pick him and bring him home where he’d be warm and taken care of. At least, moreso taken care of than he was at the warehouse, or standing in frigid rain. He definitely wasn’t expecting to be treated like a free man, but hey, a warm meal every night and a blanket to sleep on would be better than what he had.

 

Of course, there was always the chance that whoever bought him would treat him worse… he’d lived that life already. Billie knew in all likelihood he could end up back with a Master like Maser James. The thought made him shudder.

 

The truck bounced and jerked over the bumpy road back to the warehouse and Billie closed his eyes and tried to pretend he was somewhere warm.

 

-//-

 

The whole ride home Mike couldn’t erase that little slave’s face from his mind. He felt beyond guilty for walking away like that, but what on Earth was he supposed to do? He had no money to buy the slave even if he’d wanted to. Which he didn’t, because he didn’t know one thing about slaves or how to share your home with one.

 

Mike snorted at the even the idea of bringing the slave home. What would he do with him? How could he afford to feed him and clothe him? And what would people think if they saw him bringing a half naked slave home to his apartment? What would Tré think if he found out? What would his  _parents_  think?

 

Mike shook away his thoughts. It didn’t matter, he was never going to own one. It was barbaric and cruel to own a slave, though Mike knew he would never treat one like anything less than human. But like he said, it didn’t matter, he was never going to own a slave. Besides, his parents would have his neck.


	3. Chapter 3

The truck arrived back at the warehouse and Billie was put back into his cell. He knew he wouldn’t get much time to himself before the workers started using him, but Billie laid down and stretched out his aching muscles, hoping to relieve some pain for a little while.

 

He had been dozing for about an hour before Jeff, an older heavy set worker, shook him awake, “Hey Bolt, still here, huh?” Jeff tugged off the loose shorts Billie wore and tossed them to the corner of the cell. ‘Bolt’ was a nickname the workers had given him because of his scar, which they said looked like he’d been struck by a bolt of lightning. Jeff rolled him over and pulled him up on his knees and Billie closed his eyes, trying to block out what Jeff’s fingers were doing to him. Billie thought back to his earliest memories, he thought back to when he remembered warmth and light. His mother’s smiling face and her warm arms around his shoulders. Her gentle kisses and soft touches. Jeff slammed himself into Billie then and he was ripped from his memories.

 

Billie spent the rest of his weekend trying to escape into his own mind as the workers visited him all day long, usually coming alone but sometimes coming in pairs. Some of them were gentle, but most were rough and careless and by Sunday night Billie’s body felt thoroughly used and drained. His thighs were badly bruised and his back scratched to Hell. His throat felt raw and he hadn’t gotten very much sleep. This would make him look even more pathetic when he stood next to the new slaves in the market Monday morning.

 

-//-

 

Mike threw himself on the couch and let out a long sigh. The weekend had taken its toll on him. He had picked up all the extra hours he could at the restaurant to try and come up with some extra cash. His feet were killing him and his back was tight and aching. He didn’t know how he was going to get through the rest of the week since he didn’t have a day off until Friday.

 

There was a knock on his door and Mike groaned as he stood himself up from the couch. When he opened his door Tré was standing on the other side with a case of beer in his hand and a goofy smile plastered to his face, “Thought we could hang out. There’s a Bruce Willis marathon on TNT tonight. Oh, and here’s your money, thanks for the oranges.” Tré plopped himself on Mike’s couch and flicked on the television.

 

Mike had a flash of the market Friday night and the little slave that had stared him down. He pushed the image away, “Uh, thanks. And I don’t have cable.”

 

“Oh, that’s okay. We can just watch,” He circled through the channels on Mike’s TV for a bit before settling on one, “here, Chimpanzee documentary.” Tré popped open a beer and leaned back, content with his choice, “So, how’s work, Mikey?”

 

Mike waved him off, not really wanting to talk about it, and grabbed a beer for himself, “I’ll be dead by Friday.”

 

 

 

Friday finally came and Mike couldn’t have been more relieved. He had managed to make a couple hundred bucks more than normal this week, working as long as he could without going overtime. Maybe he’d buy himself a treat at the market today. He thought once more of the little slave he’d seen last week and snorted, not that kind of treat. Though he wondered if the boy was still there, maybe he would look for him. Just out of curiosity.

 

He’d felt guilty ever since he left the boy there, not that he could have done anything about it, Mike tried to reason. But still, if the slave wasn’t there Mike doubted he was alive.

 

His head was filled with grim thoughts as he made his way to the market that evening. He couldn’t focus on the things on his grocery list and rushed through his shopping before slowly making his way to the slave market.

 

When he got there the slave was gone, all the stalls were empty. Something clenched in Mike’s chest, realizing the likelihood of someone buying the slave was low.

 

His guilt hit harder and Mike’s eyes searched around the slave market again for any sign of the boy, realizing he wanted more than anything to see he was there, alive.

 

The sun was setting and Mike quickly turned and busied himself with his groceries as a slave merchant came around from behind his truck. Mike watched out of the corner of his eye as the man hoisted himself into the driver’s seat and drove off. Once he was alone, Mike wandered closer to the wooden posts the slaves were normally tied to. He stared at the one where he had last seen the little black haired slave and sighed.

 

There was nothing he could have done. Mike turned to leave but his gaze caught on something on the ground, behind a dumpster that had been hidden by the slave merchant’s truck.

 

It didn’t take Mike long to realize he was looking at a body and he quickly made his way through the muddy grass to the prone figure on the ground.

 

“Oh my god,” Mike sucked in a breath when he recognized the figure. It was the little black haired slave. He was half naked and pale and covered in bruisings, the right side of his face was stained with dried blood. Mike choked back the lump in his throat, he didn’t know if he was going to be sick or just start weeping like a baby.

 

They’d just left him here! Just threw his body on the ground like nothing more than the trash in the dumpster next to him. Mike’s chest hurt and he covered his mouth in an attempt to stop whatever it was that wanted to come out. This little slave had been begging him last Friday, pleading with his eyes to save him. And Mike had walked away.

 

Mike buried his head in his arms and started crying, the grief and the guilt was too thick in his throat to swallow down any tears. He cried for a while, until the sun was just about gone beneath the horizon before he wiped his eyes and looked down at the little slave. As Mike was watching he noticed something he hadn’t before and immediately felt like an idiot.

 

He was breathing. The little slave’s chest was slowly rising and falling, stuttering around hitched gulps of air. Mike’s heart lurched and he only spent a moment weighing his options before ripping his jacket off and covering the boy with it. He slipped his arms under the shoulders and knees of the little slave, lifting with an ease there shouldn’t have been.

 

He laid the boy across the backseat of his car and drove to the nearest hospital he knew of. However, the last thing Mike expected as he walked through the front doors of St. Jude’s with a limp and bloody boy in his arms was to be turned away.

 

“Sir, this is a hospital for free men, we don’t take slaves.”

 

“Please, he needs help. I’ll pay for him.”

 

“Is he yours?”

 

“Well, no, but…”

 

“I’m sorry, I can’t help you. Try the free clinic down the road.”

 

So Mike did, and again he was turned away, this time for not having proof of ownership of the kid.

 

Mike tried two more free clinics before someone took pity on him. His face was drenched with tears and he pleaded like it was his own life that needed saving.

 

“Please, please, no one will help him. I don’t know what to do, he’s dying, please-”

 

“Okay, okay. Follow me.” The nurse led Mike into a small white room with a table and Mike gently laid the little slave down, keeping his hands on the boy’s arm.

 

“The doctor will be in shortly.”

 

Mike nodded and sniffed, wiping away his tears and watching the slave. His breathing was worse, so shallow Mike had to put his ear to the boy’s chest to make sure he was still alive. “Everything’s gonna be okay, the doctor’s gonna fix you up now okay?” Mike whispered, feeling so responsible for the condition the slave was in, “Don’t die on me, kay?”

 

The door opened and a man in a white doctor’s coat came in, “Hi, I’m Dr. Shepherd.” He stated before he put his hands on the slave, carefully tilting the boy’s head so he could examine the cut there. “Tell me what happened.”

 

“I just found him like this. At the market, they drove off and they left him there.”

 

“He’s dehydrated, malnourished… he’s been knocked on the head quite recently, looks like a minor contusion.” The doctor moved his hands over the slave’s arms, which were badly bruised, the wrists raw and bloody, “His wrist feels fractured…I’m going to hook him up to an IV, clean up this cut on his head. It’s good you found him when you did, I don’t doubt he’ll make a safe recovery.”

 

Mike sighed, relief flowing through him, “He’s going to be alright?”

 

“Yes, he should be fine. He just needs some nutrition, lots of rest, mostly just a good amount of R&R.”

 

Mike nodded his head; he was more than willing to give the poor slave that.

 

“I just want to keep him here for a few hours. Normally, I would suggest keeping him over night, but I have other patients to see and I don’t think they would take the news well that my room is being occupied by a slave.”

 

Unfortunately, Mike understood. It wasn’t exactly like slaves had high priority over free men.

 

“I’m going to bandage his wrist and his head. I can dress him in some scrubs and then I’ll have to hand him over to you.”

 

“Thank you so much for helping me Doc, I know you didn’t have to.”

 

The doctor’s lips thinned and he nodded, “I don’t know what this world’s come to when men decide they can own other men, but I’m not going to refuse anybody the help they need.”

 

Mike felt grateful, knowing there were still some decent people in this world.

 

 

When Mike got the slave home he didn’t look much better than he had before. There was less blood on his face, but he looked so frail in the white bandages and the hospital scrubs. The doctor gave the slave a mild sedative to ease the pain. After it was given to him the boy seemed to breathe a bit easier. Mike left him tucked into his own bed and slept on the couch.


	4. Chapter 4

When Billie Joe woke the pain in his body hit him like a ton of bricks. He gasped and felt more acute pain in his head and his wrist. He swallowed tightly, lying still and trying to remember what had happened to him. He tried to remember why his wrist and his head hurt so badly and how he ended up in a strange bed. It took a minute of staring at an unfamiliar set of dressers and personal items around the room before his memory slowly leaked back, at least, the part about the pain.

 

It was Friday morning and the week had been the most difficult week of his stay in the slave trade, trying to stay on his feet day in and day out when he felt so tired and weak. He had collapsed, and with his arms bound so tightly behind his back his sudden dead weight had yanked his arms awkwardly up, electric fire exploding in his wrist. He had screamed and almost blacked out before the merchant untied him and dragged him out behind the truck. All he could think about was how his wrist must’ve snapped. The pain had been so bright.

 

He had been dragged and dumped next to the dumpster and in that instant he knew like a horse that’d broken its leg; he had become useless in the merchant’s eyes. His last thought before the boot collided with his temple was that he was a dead man.

 

And now, somehow, he was lying on a soft bed. His pain was still very much there, but bandaged and mending. He still felt exhausted and the more he thought about it the more he felt hungry and thirsty. Billie tried to ignore the sensations and did so effectively until he had the urge to pee.

 

He took his time pulling the blankets from his body and his legs over the side of the bed. Carefully, he put his weight on his legs and was more than thrilled to find he could still stand and walk on them, though wobbly. He’d thought his legs were dead for good when he’d collapsed.

 

Billie made his way to the door, slowly opening and peeking out into the hallway. The coast was clear and he found the bathroom quickly and relieved himself. When he opened the door to leave he had to bite back a yelp at the sight of the tall blonde man suddenly standing there.

 

-//-

 

“Sorry! Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you.” Mike blurted the second he saw the little slave jump back.

 

It was refreshing to see the boy awake and standing. His green eyes were widened in fear and Mike felt responsible for that one. He was still wearing the white hospital scrubs and Mike thought it made him look a little wild and frayed on the edges, like he’d escaped a mental ward.

 

“I’m Mike,” He resisted the urge to stick out his hand in greeting, knowing it would only be rejected. The little slave lowered his eyes, his good hand holding onto the door handle with white knuckles.

 

He didn’t offer a name, so Mike asked, “And what should I call you?”

 

“You can call me whatever you like, sir.” The boy’s voice was quiet and steady.

 

“I’d like to call you by your name, if I could.”

 

It took a few seconds for the slave to respond, but eventually he spoke, “Billie Joe.”

 

Mike nodded, not really sure what to say next. He watched the slave, Billie Joe, carefully and wondered if the boy remembered him.

 

His eyes traveled up to Billie’s forehead where a good amount of blood still clung to his hair and skin. The kid was dirty and Mike knew he was going to have to change the sheets on his bed just from Billie laying there.

 

“Do you want to take a shower?” Mike blurted, hoping the boy would say yes so he could at least get that off his mind.

 

Billie didn’t look at him, but nodded timidly.

 

“Okay, there’s towels in the cabinet right here. I’ll go find you some clothes to wear.”

 

Mike was about to walk away, eager to leave when Billie asked, “Did you buy me, sir?”

 

“Um, not exactly.” Mike fumbled. How did he put this delicately? They left you to rot so I took you as a freebie?

 

“You were badly injured. I found you that way, so I took you to a clinic.”

 

“So you didn’t buy me?” the slave looked defeated.

 

“Well, no… I’m just fixing you up, and when you feel better you can…” Mike didn’t know how to finish that sentence. They both knew they couldn’t just let him go. He’d end up right back where he was or stolen to somebody not half as kind as Mike. Slaves were easy to identify even without their serial numbers tattooed to their forearms. Most could never fake the air of confidence free men had.

 

When Mike glanced back at Billie he noticed the slave staring at him strangely, and it took a moment for him to realize Billie was remembering him from their encounter last week. Billie caught himself and ducked his head, “Thank you sir, I think I’ll take my shower.”

 

Mike nodded briskly before Billie shut the door. He really had no idea what to do with the boy now that he was here.

 

-//-

 

Billie gently peeled his scrubs off, careful not to aggravate any injuries. He thought about Mike, knowing now that he’d seen the man before. He was the man he’d thought was going to buy him last Friday. He winced as he stepped into the shower and the hot water hit his bruises. It was an odd coincidence that he ended up in this Mike guy’s house, or was it? Had he been waiting so he could grab Billie for free? He couldn’t be sure.

 

His thoughts were erased as he began cleaning himself; the whole shower hurt, scrubbing his skin with the soap stung as he touched every cut and tender spot on his body. Billie carefully washed the blood out of his hair and watched as the water turned a rusty brown before swirling down the drain.

 

Shutting off the water, Billie stepped out and dried himself off as gently as he could. When he opened the bathroom door Mike was in a squat with a bundle of clothes in his arms, “Oh.” He said and stood, “These are for you…”

 

Billie was holding his towel loosely at his side, modesty never really a principle for a slave, but as Mike trailed off he resisted the urge to cover himself up. Mike was clearly gawking at his scar, the one part of his body he was very uncomfortable showing. The man shoved the clothes toward Billie, shaking himself out of the daze and Billie was grateful until Mike said, “Can I ask?” motioning to Billie’s face and chest, “How you got that?”

 

Billie clutched the clothes in his hand, his eyes on his feet before slowly answering, “My… previous Master…” he couldn’t manage anymore words on the subject, but Mike seemed to understand what he was saying.

 

“Wait, he did this to you?” Mike’s voice rose in alarm and Billie shrunk back, “Jesus, what did he do?” Mike reached his hand out, fingers just missing Billie’s skin before he dropped his hand to his side.

 

-//-

 

Mike stared at the long scar covering the slave’s body, knowing something that scarred that thick had to be incredibly painful. He’d never have guessed somebody had  _done_  that to him though. He could easily understand why the boy seemed so timid and afraid, if somebody had hurt him like that he wouldn’t be able to trust anyone either.

 

He was still holding Billie with his stare, examining the scar that started in the dark locks at his temple. It was white and stark against the black of his hair, and then it fell, down his jaw and picking up on the skin above his collar bone where it thinned out. It grew thick again as it fell down his ribcage in a couple jagged, harsh lines before slicing neatly over his hipbone and fading somewhere down his thigh.

 

It looked like someone had tried to gut him. Mike couldn’t imagine how much blood had spilled from a wound like that.

 

“Does it still hurt?” he found himself asking and the slave gave a timid nod.

 

“Sometimes.”

 

There was an awkward pause and Mike inhaled, saying, “Okay, well I’ll let you dress. I’m gonna be in the kitchen, it’s just down the hallway there. Then we can rebandage your wrist.” Billie just nodded so Mike took his cue to leave and retreat to the kitchen where he threw a frozen pizza into the oven.

 

Mike paced as he waited for Billie, his mind racing. He was angry at everybody who treated slaves less than human, angry at those who treated Billie that way. If it weren’t for Mike he’d be dead behind a garbage bin right now. A human life, just thrown away because everyone was too shallow to see past a scar.

 

Billie padded into the kitchen then, Mike’s Rolling Stones T-shirt hanging off his shoulders and Mike’s plaid pajama pants dragging past the boy’s feet. Mike had to tear his attention away from how cute Billie looked when he saw the boy wince. He was holding his sprained wrist carefully in one hand.

 

“Here,” Mike motioned to Billie’s wrist and the boy hesitantly held it out. Turning the wrist over in his hands, Mike hissed as he noticed the red, inflamed skin and the scabs encircling it, “Let me put some ice on that.” He grabbed some ice cubes from the freezer and wrapped them in a dish rag. Handing the bundle to the slave, Mike told him to hold it to his wrist. He got Billie to sit down at the small kitchenette counter top and took a look at the cut on his head. It looked much better, no longer bleeding and Mike told him so.

 

“I have pizza in the oven, we’ll just eat that tonight I guess. Didn’t have time to prepare something.” Mike laughed without humor.

 

As he watched Billie sit on his kitchen stool, black hair sticking up in a tangled mess on his head and his small figure shrinking in Mike’s clothes, he couldn’t help but want to know more about him. Though he knew it wasn’t his place to ask the questions he really wanted answers to. So he figured he could at least start with small talk, try to get the kid to trust him.

 

“So, Billie Joe. That sounds like a southern name.”

 

Billie didn’t respond.

 

“Were you born in the south?”

 

The slave shook his head, glancing at Mike out of the corner of his eye.

 

“Oh, where were you born then?”

 

“California.”

 

“Oh yeah? Wow, me too. What are the odds?” He really was surprised they were from the same area, especially seeing how their lives had ended up so differently, “I’m originally from Berkeley, myself.” Mike paused, looking at Billie expectantly.

 

The little slave glanced at him again, his hands fidgeting on the table, “Rodeo, sir.”

 

“Wow… that’s not too far from Berkeley.” He couldn’t believe he’d lived so close to Billie, what were the chances they’d both end up in New York, their lives colliding like this, “How old are you?” He blurted out the question, briefly wondering if they’d been the same age at the time too. He often thought of Billie as just a boy in his head, he didn’t look Mike’s age.

 

Billie kept his eyes on his hands for a moment, teeth biting his lip and Mike realized he was thinking about it, trying to add together years of slavery to figure it out. God, he didn’t even know how old he was.

 

“Seventeen? Eighteen, sir. I’m not sure.”

 

“I’m twenty-three.”

 

Billie nodded absently, adjusting the ice pack on his wrist. Mike watched him and wondered how long he’d been a slave if he couldn’t even remember his own age. He wanted to ask when Billie became one, but he wasn’t sure if he was crossing a line yet.

 

As Mike debated the question, the oven beeped signaling the pizza was done. He got up and pulled it out, cutting up some pieces and placing them on the kitchenette table top. He grabbed some glasses too, filling them with water before taking his seat and diving in, not realizing how hungry he was.

 

Across from him, Billie stretched his wrist out on the table, ice pack settled neatly against it before gently picking up his piece of pizza with his good hand and staring at it.

 

Mike stopped eating and watched him, “Everything okay?”

 

Billie jumped, his head jerked in Mike’s direction, “Uh, yessir. Thank you, sir.” He took a small bite then, chewing it carefully and Mike watched his eyes fall shut, a pure expression of bliss on his face.

 

Mike bit his lip and tried to hold back his grin, “I can’t imagine what they’ve been feeding you if it makes frozen pizza  _that_ good.”

 

A hint of a smile played on Billie’s lips and he shrugged, “Rice and beans mostly, sir. It’s cheap and it keeps us alive.” He took a hungry bite of his pizza and seemed to forget Mike was there.

 

Mike watched him and smiled half-heartedly, his comment lingering in Mike’s head,  _it’s cheap and it keeps us alive._  He couldn’t imagine living like that, knowing how he doesn’t really matter to the world, knowing he’s nothing more than a living commodity.

 

Suddenly losing his own appetite, Mike dropped the rest of his pizza and glanced at the clock. He had to go to work soon. He briefly thought about calling off but knew he needed the money. Especially now that he was feeding two.

 

Billie was washing down his pizza with the glass of water. Standing, Mike took both their plates and dropped them in the sink, “I have to go to work soon,” He hesitated asking the next question, if Billie needed him here he would stay. “Are you going to be alright here? Alone?”

 

“Yessir, I won’t touch anything.”

 

“That’s not- I didn’t mean it like that. I just wanted to make sure you’d be okay.”

 

Billie frowned, but nodded, “I’ll be okay, sir.”

 

Mike pursed his lips, “Okay then. I’m just gonna hop in the shower before I go.”

 

With that he made his way down the hall and to the bathroom, closing the door behind him and sighing. How long was he planning on keeping Billie here?

 

He didn’t know, and a part of him wanted to keep him here forever. He knew he wasn’t bringing Billie back to the market. Really where else could he take him? Maybe there was some kind of slave rescue club he could take him to.

 

Mike stepped into the shower and turned on the spray. He was halfway finished when he noticed the flecks of blood all over the shower wall next to his head. He really wanted to keep Billie. Mike grabbed a washcloth and soaked it before wiping away the blood. It was his fault Billie had been left to die and because of it he felt a responsibility over the slave’s life. Plus, he really  _liked_  Billie. He was cute and really interesting and Mike knew the closer they became the more the boy would open up and the more Mike would learn about him and like him.

 

Mike dried off and put his uniform on before walking out into the kitchen, where Billie was standing, awkwardly holding onto his iced wrist.

 

“Oh yea, jeez I’m sorry. Here.” Mike took the ice pack and grabbed some bandages from the first aid he kept below the sink. He wrapped up Billie’s wrist and filled the dishrag with more ice, tying a rubber band around the open ends to keep it all in. “Here, keep holding this to it, um, you can watch TV, take a nap, read a book. Whatever you feel like doing, I should be home at eleven, alright? Oh, and here’s the number to  _Lucky’s_ , the restaurant I work at. Just ask for me if you really need me for something,” Mike scribbled down the number on a pad of paper.

 

Billie nodded, standing in the middle of his apartment and looking so small in Mike’s clothes. Mike resisted the urge to hug him and instead left, locking his apartment door and making his way downstairs.

 

-//-

 

The next several days continued the same way. Mike would leave Billie alone in his apartment while he went to work and Billie would enjoy the time he had by himself.

 

He would stretch for a while, then sit by the window and watch the people in the street bustle around in their busy lives. He would read from the books in Mike’s room, always making sure to put them back exactly where he found them. And sometimes he cleaned the apartment.

 

When Mike came home he would collapse onto the couch and turn the TV on. Billie would sit in the recliner and watch whatever Mike had on. Usually it was sports or the news or some sitcom about Doctors and Billie would try to understand it and pretend he cared.

 

Mike usually fell asleep on the couch and Billie would turn off the TV and drape a blanket over him before putting himself to sleep in Mike’s bed. Some mornings Mike would wake up and groan about his back and Billie would feel guilty and offer him the bed, but Mike refused. So one night, just before Mike got home from work, Billie curled himself up on the couch and pretended to be sleeping. He was afraid Mike might try to wake him, but instead he felt a blanket draped over his body and heard Mike pad down the hallway to his bed instead, collapsing with a satisfied groan. Billie grinned to himself in the dark apartment.

 

 

The next morning Billie woke and found Mike still sleeping soundly in his own bed. He stepped into the bathroom and turned on the shower. While the water got hot, Billie took some time to study himself in the mirror. It hadn’t been a luxury he’d had since he lived with Master James. Since then he’d become quite tan, no doubt from standing in the market all day long. Though he’d also become very skinny. His cheeks were gaunt and the skin around his eyes always looked dark and tired. But the bruises were fading and the knock on his head was mostly healed. His wrist was also healing quite nicely.

 

Billie stepped into the shower, loving the way the hot water felt as it pounded against his chest. He liked living here. He liked Mike. Mike was nice to him, he talked to him like he wasn’t a slave and surprisingly, he hadn’t touched Billie once.

 

Almost every free man Billie had ever come across in his life since becoming a slave had used him. Mike didn’t seem to be like most free men though. He could tell Mike admired him, he’d seen that look in every trainer’s eyes during his years spent learning to be a slave. He’d seen it in Master James eyes the day he bought Billie. And sometimes he even saw a version of it in the worker’s eyes when they took him. His scar definitely didn’t make him the ideal slave anymore, but people still wanted him, well, a part of him. He still had no owner, not really. Nobody wanted  _all_  of him.

 

Billie swallowed the lump in his throat, sometimes when Mike looked at him he felt almost… valued. He wanted Mike to be his Master, it sounded stupid but it was true. The past week had been the best of his existence as a slave and he didn’t want to let it go.

 

Billie shut off the water and quickly dried off before wrapping the towel around his waist. Normally Mike was awake first and laid out clothes for him to wear in the bathroom, but he was still sleeping so Billie sighed and dressed himself in the clothes he’d been wearing yesterday. It was an old pair of running shorts Mike had shrunk in the wash and a t-shirt with some paint stains on it. They were both way too big. Billie had to cinch the short’s drawstrings closed as tight as they could go to keep from falling down.

 

Mike only had about three or four inches on him, but Billie had virtually no fat on his body. Not that Mike was heavy either. Mike was all sinewy, lean muscle.

 

Billie couldn’t imagine himself being anything but a sight for sore eyes. His belly was concave and his ribs were easy to count. His hipbones jutted out in sharp little points and there were obvious holes in the spaces between his collarbone and shoulders. Mike had said it would take time to put weight back on, but Billie wondered if he’d even be here long enough to give his body that chance.

 

When he left the bathroom, Mike was still sleeping so Billie took the opportunity to make breakfast. He pulled out all the stuff he needed to make pancake batter and a large bowl to mix it all in. It’d been years since he had pancakes himself, but he used to make them for Master James every Friday morning. While Billie started to stir everything together his thoughts drifted back to Mike and why Mike seemed to have interest in him but hadn’t acted on it. To be honest, from the first moment he bumped into Mike in the hallway and realized Mike intended on keeping him in the apartment for a while he expected to be fucked right then and there.

 

He’d stood stark naked, vulnerable and exposed while Mike had raked his eyes all over his body and couldn’t believe it when Mike had just turned and walked away. He didn’t know what to think after that. Mike made it obvious, they way he’d looked at him. He’d almost touched him too, and Billie had seen everything that would follow. His fingers brushing across Billie’s scar, tickling down his chest, examining and studying him slowly before his grip would turn hard and Mike would push him the way he wanted him.

 

Billie shivered, briefly remembering the encounters he’d had with many free men who took what they want. They were rarely gentle. He liked to think when Mike ever decided to use him like that he’d be gentle.

 

Pulling out a frying pan, Billie poured some of the mixed batter into the pan and listened to it sizzle.

 

He also liked to think that Mike would never use him, and though he’d gone this far without being touched, the odds were not in his favor.

 

“Hey!”

 

Billie spun around, his eyes widening at the person standing almost right behind him. His elbow collided with the bowl of batter, sending the whole thing crashing to the ground, pancake mix splattered all over the floor.

 

“Shit!” The guy jumped back, avoiding the batter from splashing his feet.

 

Mike was in the kitchen in an instant and Billie’s heart was thudding in his throat. Quickly he dropped to his knees, grabbing a dish rag and wiping up the mess on the floor, “Sorry, sorry, I didn’t mean to-” He could barely hear himself talking over the pounding in his ears.


	5. Chapter 5

Mike stepped over the spill on the floor and took hold of Billie’s shoulders, “Billie, Billie, shhh, its okay, I don’t care.”

 

The slave was still apologizing and trying to wipe at the mess. Mike shook him a little, knocking him out of his daze, “Hey! Billie, stop. I’m not mad.”

 

Billie let go of the dish rag and sat back, his eyes glossy and fearful. He was breathing hard and Mike just tightened his grip, not knowing what else to do.

 

“Mike.”

 

Mike turned at the sound of Tré’s voice. His friend was looking down at them both, face a mask of disbelieve, “You have a slave?”

 

“Not now, Tré.” Mike turned back to Billie, afraid he was having a panic attack and told him to breathe. Billie’s hands were clenched in the fabric of the shorts he wore, knuckles white, as he fought to control his breath.

 

“Jesus, Mikey, this is something you tell your friend-”

 

“I said not now, Tré!” Mike barked, sending Tré a glare.

 

His friend looked chastised and frowned, “Sorry, I just… is he going to be okay?”

 

The small barrel of Billie’s chest was rising and falling rapidly and Mike held on to him until it began to slow.

 

“Okay?” Mike asked and Billie nodded breathlessly, his eyes flicking nervously to Tré. “Don’t mind him, he won’t hurt you.” Mike told him and helped Billie up, before sitting him at one of the kitchen’s stools.

 

“Yeah, I won’t touch you, man. Scout’s honor.” Tré crossed his fingers across his chest and turned to Mike, “Want to tell me what the hell’s going on? Since when do you own a slave? Aren’t your parents in the ‘We’re against slavery club’? Oh yeah, like mine are?!” Tré yelled and Mike flicked off the flame going on his stove top, grimacing at the black pancake in his frying pan.

 

“Tré calm down, he’s not mine. Not really.” Mike grabbed some paper towels and stooped to clean up the mess on his floor.

 

“Oh so you’re just renting him, then?” Tré said dryly.

 

“Listen, it’s none of your business.”

 

“To Hell it’s none of my business. Mike, I thought I knew you, man. I thought you actually had a heart-”

 

“I do have a heart!” Mike yelled standing up and facing Tré. Billie flinched out of the corner of his eye and Mike calmed, dropping the soaked paper towels he held in the garbage can, “They left him there, alright?”

 

Tré frowned at him, “Huh?”

 

“When I was at the market last week I found him, on the ground with his head bleeding all over the place. They left him there to die, Tré. What was I supposed to do?”

 

“Oh.” Tré looked at a loss for words. His friend turned his attention to Billie and the slave quickly ducked his head. “I’m sorry, man.” Tré said, his eyes still on Billie and Mike didn’t know who he was apologizing to.

 

Suddenly, Tré turned to look at him, “Do your parents know?”

 

“No,” Mike sighed, “I figured they never had to know if I wasn’t keeping him… but,”

He glanced at Billie who was peeking up at him, “I think I’m going to… is that alright?”

 

Billie’s eyebrows rose a little, surprised he seemed to be asking permission, “I don’t really have a say in the matter, sir.”

 

“I think it’s the best option. Safest. For you?” Mike fumbled, trying to read the expression on the slave’s face.

 

The boy looked like he wanted to shrug, baffled at Mike’s words, at the fact that Mike was even asking.

 

“So, is it alright though?” He repeated, needing to hear some sort of an answer. The situation was just too strange. Just deciding Billie was his with no say on the boy’s part.

 

“You’re a free man, sir. I’m a slave. You’re allowed to do with me what you want.”

 

Mike figured that was the closest to a ‘yes’ he was ever going to get.

 

“Hey, well, if it’s a matter of protection, I’m cool with that.” Tré interjected, “As long as you’re not raping and pillaging.”

 

Mike shot Tré a glare, “I can’t believe that’s what you thought.”

 

“Sorry man, it didn’t look good.” Tré shrugged, grabbing an apple from Mike’s fridge, “But congrats on the new roomie? Anyway, sorry I ruined your breakfast too. I didn’t mean to scare you little man.”

 

“Yeah, by the way, was there a reason you barged into my house at nine ‘o clock in the morning?”

 

“It’s Friday, dude. Wanted to catch you before you left for the market, was hoping you could get me some groceries.”

 

“Oh fuck, I almost forgot.” Mike scraped his palms over his face wishing he didn’t have to leave the apartment today. But it was Friday and his fridge was in need of a refill. Especially now since the last of his milk, eggs and butter had ended up on the kitchen floor. “Shit, Billie! I can’t take him, I mean… can I?”

 

Billie frowned, “Why, sir?”

 

“That slave merchant is going to be there, and I basically stole you. He can’t see you there.”

 

“Mike, if you really want to keep the kid you’re going to have to let him go outside. And outside, slaves need collars, and licenses. Unless you want to get arrested and him taken away from you, you’re going to have to pay for him at some point.”

 

Tré was right. He needed to go back and get proper documentation from the slave merchant. And a collar. Mike grimaced at the thought.

 

-//-

 

Billie tapped his fingers nervously on the passenger side door. They were almost to the market and he was really dreading seeing any familiar faces. He felt good though, for the first time in a long time. Mike was buying him, Mike who let him shower with hot water, make his own food and  _read_. Mike, who hadn’t laid a finger on him…yet. Billie hadn’t even felt this remotely safe since he was with his Momma. Quickly he shook that thought away, not wanting to dredge out the past.

 

They arrived at the market and Billie stepped out, his gut twisting at the familiar smells and sights. He followed close behind Mike in the direction of the slave posts. His jaw clenched at the sight of them. There were two slaves tied to the posts, neither of them Billie recognized. Then a burly man in his late forties came from around the truck and Billie  _did_ recognize him. He fought the urge to cower behind Mike as the man who’d thought he’d stomped out Billie’s life spotted them.

 

“Hey!” The man stared at Billie, eyes wide, and rushed over to them, “Hey! What are you doing with him? You  _thief!_ ” He was headed straight for him, his face red and angry. As the man reached them, Mike swiftly positioned himself in front of Billie, his hands up and stopping the merchant from getting any closer. He could have hugged Mike in that moment.

 

“Sir, wait, wait. I came back to pay you. I’m sorry I took him, but I’m here to pay for him and get legal certification that I own him.”

 

“Yeah, right,” the man scoffed, “You stole him from me, you little rat.” He pointed an ugly finger in Mike’s face, “You give him back now, and I won’t call the police on you.”

 

Billie swallowed, terrified at the notion of being tied to those posts again.

 

Mike squared his shoulders, “No, you gave him up the moment you left him behind        to die. You can either let me pay for him and get the money you thought you’d thrown away. Or you can lose him again, and get nothing.” Mike’s voice was stern and Billie saw the merchant’s anger falter for a moment, “What do you say? A hundred and fifty?”

 

The slave merchant crossed his arms over his chest, deliberating for a moment, “Fine. One-thousand dollars and he’s yours.”

 

Mike stepped into the merchant’s space, livid and defiant, “No fucking way, this is money you decided never to see again when you kicked his head in. I’ll give you  _three_ -hundred, which is  _more_  than he’s worth and you know it.”

 

“Five-hundred.”

 

“ _Three_. Take it or leave it.”

 

Billie watched as the two stared each other down, hands in fists and jaws clenched tight before the merchant finally glanced away, “Fine. Follow me and I’ll get you paper work.”

 

The merchant stomped back to his truck and Mike began to follow. He glanced at Billie and let out a sigh of relief, “That was easier than I thought it would be.”

 

Billie just nodded, his attention turned to the slaves tied to their posts. A sense of relief flooding through him.

 

 

After Mike signed everything he needed to, he took the papers that declared Billie belonged to him and stuffed them in his pocket, “Okay, now a collar.”

 

The collars were sold at a different stand, not too far away, but thankfully away from the muddy pit of slave posts Billie had spent the majority of his time in these last couple months. He never wanted to see them again.

 

Mike put a couple different ones on him, asking him if they were comfortable or not. He could tell Mike was having a hard time getting through it, his teeth grit and his eyes not meeting Billie’s.

 

“It feels fine, sir. Just like all the other ones did.”

 

Mike scratched his head, looking anywhere but at Billie, “I know, and you say that, but… they just don’t  _look_  comfortable.”

 

Truthfully, they weren’t. The leather scratched at his skin and the weight of it restricted his movement, but it was a familiar feeling, “I wore one for a few years straight, sir. I’m used to it.” Billie tugged at the one that was around his neck now and watched Mike flail for a bit.

 

“ _Years?_  God, I’m not going to make you wear it all the time. You don’t have to wear it at home, kay?” Finally looking at Billie, Mike smiled before his eyes slid down to the collar he was wearing and a frown crossed his face.

 

“Yessir.” Billie said quietly.

 

Mike turned and told the woman behind the stand, “Alright, we’ll take that one.”

 

After Mike paid for his collar they bought some groceries, some fruits and breads and meats. Then they drove to a shopping mall where Mike acted strange and looked unsure of himself, “I hate the mall.” He kept saying as they walked inside.

 

They went into a few stores, Mike would glance at the price tags, curse, and then find another store to look into.

 

Finally coming across a store where Mike and the prices agreed, he told Billie to pick some stuff out. Dumbfounded, Billie just stared at Mike, “I-I don’t know. What do you want me to wear, sir?”

 

“You really are asking  _me_  to pick out your clothes?” Mike laughed, “I don’t know either, pick what you like.”

 

Billie stared at the shelves of jeans in front of him before turning back to Mike, “I’ve never picked out my own clothes my entire life, sir. I really don’t know.”

 

“Never? Well, what did your other owners have you wear?”

 

“I’ve only ever had one other Master, sir.”

 

“Oh,” he could see Mike staring at his scar, a sad look on his face, “What did he have you wear?”

 

“Usually nothing, sir.”

 

Billie watched Mike’s face turn bright red as the man began to busy himself with some t-shirts on a clothing rack. He controlled the urge to smile and watched Mike fumble through the shirts.

 

“Here,” Mike finally turned around with some plain colored shirts in his hand, most were dark. “And,” Mike grabbed some jeans off the shelf too, holding them next to Billie’s hips, “Yeah, these too. Go try these on.”

 

It took some trial and error, but eventually they found a couple jeans and t-shirts that fit him. Mike bought him a bundle of boxers and socks and some knock-off Chuck Taylors, sadly stating that they ‘just weren’t the same’ before they left the mall.

 

 

When they got back to the apartment Mike hoisted all the groceries onto the counter while Billie dropped all his new clothes at his feet, “Well,” Mike said, “I’m officially broke.”

 

Mike turned to look at him and his face grew somber, “Take that off.”

 

Billie reached up and undid the thick clasp that held the collar closed. He pulled it off and placed it on the kitchen counter. Mike stared at it with disgust before turning his attention to putting the groceries away.

 

Billie was hesitant to break the silence, but he didn’t know what else to do, “Um, sir,”

 

“Please stop calling me that.”

 

Billie felt his heart stutter, realizing his mistake at once. Mike was his Master now, but Mike didn’t seem to like all that formal slave stuff… Nervously, Billie tried, “Master?” his voice quiet like he didn’t want Mike to hear.

 

Mike shot him a look and for a second he thought he was going to get angry. His features smoothed though, and he said, “No, Billie. Not that either.”

 

Billie just stood there then, hearing the weariness in Mike’s voice. He kept his head down and fidgeted with the hem of his new shirt.

 

“Come here.” Mike said and Billie looked up, apprehensive.

 

Mike was holding his hand out and Billie slowly came to it. “Turn around.” Mike told him and Billie obeyed. He felt Mike take the back of his shirt collar and flinched when the tag was yanked off.

 

Mike turned him back around and held onto his shoulders, “I’m not going to hurt you. You know that, don’t you?”

 

Billie had no idea of knowing that, not yet. He nodded.

 

“Good,” Mike said and tossed the tag into the trash, “You can put all your clothes in my room.” He sighed, seeming to remember there only  _was_  one room, “I don’t know how we’re going to sleep.”

 

“It’s your bed, sir-, erm,” Billie hoped Mike hadn’t noticed that slip, “I can sleep on the couch.”

 

Mike frowned, “We’ll figure it out.”

 

 

That night they had spaghetti for dinner and watched TV until it was late. Conversation was null and Billie could tell Mike was dragging out their TV time, trying to stay awake and figure out what to do.

 

During the final credits of one of Mike’s sitcoms, his eyes started to droop and Billie couldn’t take it anymore, “I can sleep on the couch tonight, sir. I don’t mind.” He could see Mike was about to protest and continued, “It doesn’t hurt me like it hurts you. I’m used to sleeping on the floor.”

 

“But that’s just why I don’t want to banish you to the couch. You deserve to sleep in a fucking bed, Billie.”

 

They sat in silence for a while before Mike shut the TV off and stood, “Here, come on.”

 

He made his way to the bedroom, flicking off the lights in the living room and kitchen as he went. Billie followed, unsure where this was going.

 

Once in his room, Mike stripped down to his boxers and motioned to the bed, “We can share, can’t we?”

 

Billie swallowed, not totally certain this was just going to be them sharing a sleeping spot. He mimicked Mike, pulling off his shirt and undoing his jeans before dropping them to the floor. He watched the way Mike’s eyes roved over his body and quickly crawled into bed, lying down and gauging Mike’s movements carefully.


	6. Chapter 6

Mike couldn’t help but stare at Billie and think of how phenomenally bad an idea like this was. Wrenching his eyes from the little slave’s body, Mike crawled into bed alongside him, said a quick goodnight and flicked off the light.

 

In the darkness he could almost feel how tense Billie was next to him. Hell, he was probably just as tense. He held himself as still as he could, not wanting to move and scare Billie into thinking something was going to happen. He stayed motionless and waited until he felt Billie relax and roll over, curling himself into a ball and falling asleep.

 

His bed wasn’t exactly big and if Mike moved himself over a fraction of an inch he could feel the bow of Billie’s spine against his side. He was finding it impossible to sleep in such close proximity.

 

 

Morning came and Mike was grateful to see that somehow he’d finally fallen asleep, though he knew it had been a long restless night. Thank god he had the weekend off and didn’t need to get himself up for work.

 

Mike rolled over, his muscles cramped from being held so tense last night, and stretched his arms and legs out. Billie was still sleeping next to him, still curled into a tight little ball, head tucked to his chest. Mike wanted to reach out and run his fingers through the mess of Billie’s hair. He wanted to gently touch and trace the scar on Billie’s face. He wanted to see those eyes open and smile up at him, leaning into his touch.

 

He felt the heat in his groin grow and quickly put a stop to those thoughts. He couldn’t have Billie like that. Nobody should ever have Billie like that, unless the boy wanted it. And how could anybody ever know if he really wanted anything? Mike imagined the kid’s sex life was too fucked up to ever function properly.

 

He threw himself out of bed and into the shower, needing to pull himself away from the slave. As the hot water sprayed down on his chest Mike’s thoughts strayed back to Billie.  The way Billie had looked last night, standing in his room half naked and crawling into Mike’s bed. He thought about the way he’d looked this morning, sleeping so soundly and sweetly. And Mike thought about the first morning Mike had seen Billie, when he’d just come out of the shower and was standing naked in the doorway. Beads of water still sliding down his skin and Mike had almost reached out and touched him, touched that scar that slid down the length of his body. It’s true; Billie’s body was so thin it wasn’t the biggest turn on. But Mike had noticed the boy had already added some weight and it wasn’t hard to imagine how his body would look when it was nicely filled out; firm, lean muscles and soft, undamaged skin.

 

Mike dropped his hand to his cock and encircled it, feeling it flushed and hardened already. He jerked it fast and quick with the image of Billie clear in his mind, looking up at him with bright green eyes and tousled black hair. Mike made a strangled noise as he came, hard, his load splashing all over the shower wall as he stroked himself through climax. Breathless, he wiped it off and immediately began to feel guilt creep into his system. He wanted Billie so much more than he’d originally thought. It suddenly seemed dangerous that he owned him.

 

-//-

 

Billie had been awake for a minute or two before Mike walked in, towel wrapped around his waist and looking miserable for some reason. He sat up and rubbed at his eyes, “Are you okay, sir?” His voice was scratchy with sleep.

 

Mike jumped, seeming to forget he was in his bed, or not realizing he’d been awake, “Yeah. Yeah, fine. You sleep well?” He grabbed a pair of boxers and slid them on under his towel before dropping the cloth and searching for some jeans.

 

Billie stared, watching Mike’s movements as he hummed in affirmation, “Mmmhmm.”

 

Mike however was looking anywhere but in his direction, yanking on the first clothes he found. Billie pulled himself out of bed, stretching languidly. When he turned to face Mike he found the man staring at him and felt blood flush to his cheeks.

 

Mike seemed to shake himself out of it though and hurriedly crossed the room to the door, “Put some clothes on.” He forced out and Billie frowned. For some reason Mike was in a terrible mood. Trying not to blame himself for it, Billie made his way into the shower.

 

When he was finished washing off, Billie dried and wrapped his towel around his waist, leaving the bathroom only to hear Mike yelling.

 

He carefully made his way toward the noise, wondering what the commotion was and halted the second he saw the scene in the kitchen.

 

They all turned to him the moment he walked in, Mike and an elder man and woman. The woman threw her hands to her mouth and the man scowled at him, turning back to Mike, “Harmless? Is that right?”

 

Billie wrapped his arms around himself, “Sir?”

 

Mike shook his head and swiftly herded Billie back into the bedroom, closing the door behind them, “Damnit, I told you to get dressed.” His hand was still holding Billie’s bicep where’d he’d grabbed him to push him back through the hall. Mike stared at it before he let go, his hand still hovering over Billie’s arm.

 

Billie resisted the urge to pull away, “What’s going on?”

 

Mike grabbed the new clothes from the floor he’d been wearing yesterday and pushed them at his chest, “My parents…  _fuck_ , I don’t know what they’re doing here but I have a feeling it has something to do with my neighbor. God _damnit_  Tré.” Mike turned around, letting Billie have his privacy while he dressed, “They’re pissed. You think they’d know their own son, but they’re accusing me of…”

 

Billie watched him carefully as he buttoned his jeans, he’s only known Mike for a short period of time, and he honestly doesn’t know what the man’s capable of. Billie hoped desperately Mike’s parents were wrong about him.

 

“Of terrible things.” Mike finished and turned around as Billie was pulling his shirt over his head. Mike studied him for a little while, some defeat in his eyes, “I’m sorry,” he eventually said, “I have to go back out there. You don’t have to come-”

 

“No, I will… sir. If I can?” A small part of him wanted to defend Mike, since so far the man had shown nothing but decency toward him. But, the other part of him wanted to meet his parents. He figured it would reveal more about the man that owned him now, and what his intentions were.

 

Mike nodded and they walked back into the kitchen, Billie following close behind Mike. The woman, Mike’s mom, had Billie’s collar in her hand, a look of pain on her face as she gazed at it.

 

“Mom, dad, this is Billie.” Mike gestured to him. His parents both looked sad and disgusted at his presence.

 

“It’s nice to meet you, Billie.” Mike’s mom said.

 

Mike’s father’s gaze hardened and he turned to Mike, proclaiming, “It doesn’t look like you’ve been treating him well at all Michael. There are bruises on his face and cuts,” the man gestured at him, “look at his wrists, son. He’s clearly been tied down against his will.”

 

“And he’s so thin, oh god.” Mike’s mom looked like she was about to cry.

 

Billie stepped back as Mike looked ready to chew their heads off, “He was left for dead at the market. I had to take him!”

 

“No, you didn’t, son. It would have been more merciful to let him die than to let him continue this inhumane lifestyle.”

 

“ _Walter!_ ” his mom shouted, “That’s not what we mean,”

 

“To Hell it isn’t,” Mike’s father shook his head, “Nobody should ever have to live under these conditions. To be told when to eat, when to sleep, when to shit, for Christ’s sake-”

 

“You think that’s what I do? You think I’m ordering him around, controlling his every move?”

 

Billie had his back pressed against the refrigerator; he was starting to regret his decision to leave the bedroom.

 

“I’m going by what I see here. I mean, does he look happy? Does he look grateful?” His father gestured to the slave and Mike turned to look at him.

 

“Shit, Billie,”

 

Mike gently reached out to touch Billie’s shoulder and the slave jumped, “Sorry, sir.”

 

Behind Mike, his dad gave a bitter laugh, “I’m very disappointed in you, son. You’ve imprisoned this kid to a long life of living in fear and torment. He had a way out and you stole it from him.”

 

“ _Dad_ , I can’t  _deal_  with this right now, okay?”

 

“Well you should have thought of that before you bought yourself a slave,”

 

“Honey, I think your father’s right.” His mother’s eyes watched the way Billie cowered against the fridge, “This is no life for him.”

 

“Yeah, well, this conversation isn’t helping.” Mike pushed at Billie and he stumbled back toward the hallway, “C’mon,” he spoke softly, ignoring his father’s shouts of protest.

 

Billie found himself back in Mike’s room, “I’m so fucking sorry. I should have told you to stay in here… I have to go deal with them. Will you be okay?”

 

Billie nodded numbly and sat back onto the bed. He watched Mike leave, he could still hear his new Master and his Master’s parents’ fight for another couple minutes before the front door slammed and the apartment fell quiet.

 

He didn’t know what to think. That was… not what he had expected. Mike’s parents had neither seemed to be for or against his imprisonment. On one hand they argued it was inhumane, but on the other, they were disgusted by the sight of him. It couldn’t work both ways, you couldn’t hate the system  _and_  the ones victimized by it. The anger Billie felt surprised him. He had been half expecting Mike’s parents to be kind and understanding to his situation… he had expected them to act as Mike had. Billie mentally chastised himself for ever thinking Mike was the way he was because he had come from decent parents. No, Mike’s parents shared the belief that every other free man had ever believed, that a slave was scum. That he would be better off if he was  _put down_  than given the chance at a good life. If Mike was raised by people who really believed that, then there wasn’t much hope in his new Master at all.


	7. Chapter 7

Mike rapped his knuckles on Tré’s front door again. Either the jerk really wasn’t home or, more likely, he had heard Mike yelling with his parents and just wasn’t coming to answer the door. Mike growled and went back into his own apartment, slamming the door behind him.

 

He could not believe his parents had reacted the way they had. His dad had basically told him he should have left Billie for dead.Mike had never wanted to hit his father before, but that comment had brought him so damn close to actually doing it. How could he have been raised by these people? How could he be the only one in his  _anti-slavery_  family to understand Billie was entitled to a second chance at a real life, or as close as Mike could give him.

 

It’s not like slaves were slaves because they deserved it. Mike’s not entirely sure how one becomes a slave but it’s certainly not because they’re an inherently bad person, but probably because of a mistake they’ve made. Mike frowned, he never really thought about it too much. His parents always told him slaves were criminals, but he’d found it hard to believe. It was harder to believe that  _Billie_  could have been a criminal. Mike wondered how Billie became a slave; he knew Billie had been one for a long time. The boy didn’t even know how old he was, and he’d never picked out his own clothes. Mike had a feeling Billie was little more than a child when he was enslaved. God…

 

 

When Mike went into the bedroom, Billie was sitting on the edge of his bed, looking at him expectantly. Mike briefly wondered what the boy was like when he really was just a boy. Had he been similar to the quiet and obedient slave he’d become today or had he been a wild and rambunctious kid, free to run and play and not worry about any consequences that came his way? Mike was afraid he’d never know. That part of Billie may have died years ago. 

 

“Uh, they’re gone. And I’m so sorry about that.” Mike swiped a palm over his face, “I mean, I didn’t really expect them to be  _happy_ about it, but for fuck’s sake… they were… they acted like…” Mike just shook his head, “I’m so sorry, for what they said. I hope you know I don’t share those beliefs with them, not the stuff about…” He trailed off, not really wanting to say it to Billie’s face.

 

Billie just nodded, his eyes searching Mike’s face, “Yessir.”

 

Mike had no way of knowing what Billie was thinking, if he really believed him or not, but for now he didn’t really think he wanted to know, “Good.”

 

-//-

 

The next week was slow and quiet. Mike was at work almost all the time and Billie didn’t have much to do in the empty apartment. He’d already read all of Mike’s books and cleaned almost every inch of the place twice. It’s not like he minded though, being able to sit quietly on a soft couch for a couple hours without being bothered or harmed was peaceful. But he had to admit, it was starting to get a little boring.

 

Eventually the next Friday rolled around and Mike offered for Billie to come with him to the market. It was sort of the last place Billie wanted to go to, but by then he really wanted to get out of the apartment so he agreed.

 

It was late September and the air was starting to get bitterly cold. Fall was finally on its way. Billie zipped up the hoodie Mike had let him borrow and covered his hands in the sleeves.

 

Mike was perusing the food stands at the market a few feet away. Billie watched him. He was still uncertain what to think about the man. Still, he hadn’t touched Billie in all the time they’d lived together. But how could Billie ever trust him? When every man he’d ever met since his enslavement had laid a hand on him somehow?

 

It was true that Mike seemed different than the rest. Billie just wasn’t sure how. Was it because he was lower class? Of course not, he’d stood in this market for months and watched men use up the last of their savings on young, promising slaves. Billie had assumed free men with less money were even more dangerous. If they didn’t have enough money to feed and house a slave, then he or she was probably disposable in the buyer’s eyes, knowing his new purchase would never last. But Mike  _had_  fed and housed him. Not only that, if Mike had really been looking to use him the way he was used to, he never would have bothered to save his life, and he never would have returned to the market to pay for him.

 

Mike bought his groceries and walked back over to Billie, “I bought potatoes,” Mike beamed and held up the bag in his hand, “I thought I’d make some loaded baked potato soup. Have you ever had it?”

 

Billie shook his head.

 

“My grandmother used to make it all the time. I haven’t had it in forever.”

 

Mike led them back to the car and stashed his groceries in the back seat before climbing in, “I don’t have to work tonight so I thought it’d be nice to have a real home cooked meal for once.”

 

He was silent and Mike studied him for a moment, “Are you okay?”

 

Billie nodded and hoped it looked convincing. Maybe Mike would just put it off to the market being an uncomfortable place for him, bad memories and all.

 

Mike thinned his lips, seeming unsure for a moment before shrugging and buckling his seatbelt, “Okie dokie.”

 

Buckling his own seatbelt, Billie stayed quiet as Mike drove back out onto the street. A part of him really wanted to trust Mike and it would make everything so much easier if he could just trust his new Master enough to let his guard down a little, to not be waiting for something bad to happen around every corner. Billie glanced at Mike and chewed at the inside of his cheek, there had to be a way to find out. He could do something so bad that any normal Master wouldn’t think twice about punishing him for it. The problem was, Billie was too terrified to do anything bad. He was too well trained to know what would happen when he did.

 

-//-

 

Billie had been quiet the entire trip. Come to think about it, Billie had been quiet the entire week… well, more so than normal, Mike thought.

 

When they got back to the apartment, Mike hefted his groceries onto the kitchenette table top and began pulling out everything he needed for the soup. He watched Billie as the boy wandered aimlessly toward the living room windows.

 

“Hey, you wanna help me with this?”

 

Billie turned and stared blankly at him for a moment and Mike was about to say something when the boy just nodded and shuffled back over to the kitchen.

 

He was still wearing his slave collar and Mike reached out to unclasp it when Billie recoiled.

 

“Sorry. I was just going to take it off.”

 

“Sorry, sir.” They both spoke at the same time.

 

Billie looked subdued as he stepped forward for Mike to take the collar off.

 

“Are you sure you’re okay?”

 

“Yessir.”

 

Mike wasn’t convinced.

 

“Okay, um, here you can help me dice up these scallions.”

 

He handed the cutting board and a knife to Billie before putting a pot of water on the stove and digging out everything else he would need. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Billie still for a moment, knife in hand looking dumbfounded. Mike doubted he’d ever been allowed to handle a knife in his entire life, “Just be careful okay, here,” Mike took the knife for a moment and showed him how small to cut, how to hold it, “Always point your fingers down and away from the blade, okay? Think you can handle it?”

 

He held the butt end of the knife out to Billie and hesitantly the slave took it, “Uhh, yessir.”

 

They spent the rest of the night side by side making baked potato soup and Mike felt oddly at ease next to this boy he was barely beginning to know. They were cleaning up the kitchen; the soup was just about done, when there was a knock on the door.

 

Mike couldn’t say he was all that surprised when he opened it and found his neighbor on the other side.

 

“Heeeeey, Mike. How’s it going?”

 

He gave Tré an exasperated look, finally he’d showed his face a  _week_  after the confrontation Mike had had with his parents and he knew Tré was the reason they’d showed up at his apartment in the first place, “I need to talk to you. Your place?”

 

“Yea, I thought you might.”

 

“Hey Billie, why don’t you eat without me, I might be a while.”

 

He shut the door behind him and followed Tré into his apartment.

 

-//-

 

Billie watched Mike leave and wondered how long he was going to be gone. The time they had spent together had almost been comfortable. They hadn’t talked much; mostly Mike had just talked about the food, his grandmother and how much he missed her. She sounded like someone Billie would have liked far better than Mike’s parents. His descriptions of her had reminded Billie more and more of Mike himself.

 

Again, Billie really wanted to trust Mike and he really wanted to let himself relax around him.  _He_  trusted Billie just fine, had let him handle a knife less than a foot away from him, for Chrissake. His previous Master had never really trusted Billie that way. He had just kept him submissive through pain and fear. But Mike allowed him to do things he’d never had the freedom to do as a slave and he didn’t even think twice about it. Mike never seemed to consider it dangerous to let his slave have control over parts of his life and Billie knew it was because his Master had never regarded him as any sort of threat. He  _trusted_  Billie and Billie wanted to return that sentiment so badly.

 

When Mike still hadn’t returned, Billie took some soup and sat down at the kitchenette to eat. It really was delicious, props to Grandma, and Billie felt a sense of accomplishment knowing he helped prepare it. It’d been a long time since he felt good about anything he did. When he was done he washed his bowl in the sink and curled up in the recliner to wait for Mike.

 

He must’ve dozed off after a while because suddenly he was waking up with pain in his stomach. Billie hoisted himself up and ran to the bathroom just in time to heave his guts into the toilet. His stomach cramped and tightened painfully as he threw up again and again, the sour smell of bile and potato soup stinging in his nostrils.

 

Billie vomited until nothing was left, until his stomach was empty and dry heaving in painful spasms. His shirt was drenched in sweat that was quickly cooling and making him shiver in the warm bathroom. His head was pounding and his muscles ached.

 

A gentle palm landed on the nape of his neck and Billie jolted away from the surprise touch, his back slamming into the corner of the bathroom counter.

 

Mike hissed sympathetically, “Sorry! Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you. Are you okay? What happened?”

 

Billie slouched against the counter, suddenly feeling exhausted and boneless and  _hot_. He was sweating again, “I dunno. I think it was the soup, sir.”

 

The grimace on Mike’s face turned contrite, “Oh god Billie, I’m sorry.”

 

Billie frowned, he didn’t think it was Mike’s fault. They’d cooked the potatoes and everything well. They probably were just sold bad produce. He was about to tell Mike that when his stomach flipped again and he had to pull himself over the toilet once more, painfully dry heaving an empty stomach against his sore throat.

 

Mike rubbed his back.

 

They stayed in the bathroom for at least a good hour, Billie alternately shivering and sweating. He dry heaved a few more times, but mostly they just sat in the bathroom so long because Billie was too nauseated to move.

 

Eventually though, Mike helped him up and herded him into the bedroom where he helped Billie change into clean clothes. Mike tucked him into bed and draped a cool washcloth over his forehead.

 

“I’m going to leave the garbage can right here next to the bed, in case you think you’re gonna throw up again.” Mike placed a glass of water on the bedside table, “If you’re thirsty, here’s some water. Just call me if you need something.”

 

Mike stood looking down at him a little uneasily before ducking out of the room. Billie closed his eyes and concentrated on his breathing. He couldn’t get comfortable. There was a continuous dull ache in all of his muscles and a throbbing in his temple. Billie threw the blankets off his body as he began to sweat, knowing in a few minutes he’d be freezing again. He glanced at the water glass next to his bed. Mike was concerned for him, it made him want to smile and he probably would have if he hadn’t been in so much pain. Billie’s stomach clenched and seized and he groaned, this was going to be a long night.

 

-//-

 

Mike dumped the pot of soup down the garbage disposal, “What a waste.” The night had started so well and then everything went wrong. He had yelled at Tré for blabbing his situation to his parents, apparently Tré had told his own parents and they in turn told Mike’s. He just lost his money on all those potatoes and ingredients for the soup  _and_  he had poisoned Billie. Of course he conveniently hadn’t eaten any himself, the only person suffering from it was the one person who was trying to get back on his feet. Mike cursed and threw the pot into the sink with a loud clang.

 

Bracing his hands on the counter, he breathed in through his nose and tried to calm himself down. Billie had been so quiet, so… fearful of Mike this past week, since his parent’s visit. He had just wanted to bond with the kid a little, gain a little bit of trust or something. And now, he had poisoned him. It was like one step forward, five steps back.

 

Mike turned on the water and washed out the soup pot. He also cleaned out the sink, the garbage, his refrigerator and began wiping down the counter and the cabinets. He realized he was stalling, he didn’t know where to go tonight. Lately, they’d been sharing the bed since he wanted Billie to have it and his tiny couch had been killing his back. He wanted to stay close to Billie tonight, the kid was sick and he was responsible for it. But, Billie might not want him there at all.

 

He decided to go check on Billie and crept into the bedroom, thinking the boy would be asleep. Billie was awake. He was sitting up in bed with his arms wrapped around himself, looking bone-weary and miserable.

 

“Oh.” Mike said, “Thought you’d be sleeping.”

 

Billie’s head slowly rolled back and forth across the headboard, “Nope. Everything hurts too much.” His words were slurred and Mike frowned. He glanced at the bedside table and saw a bottle of cold and flu medicine opened.

 

“Found it.” Billie murmured, “You mad?”

 

“What?” Mike picked up the medicine and found it was empty.

 

“Didn’t ask for your permission. I’m sorry.” Billie’s eyes were wide and apologetic, “I was hurting and it was there.” Billie sniffed and his eyes became unfocused, gazing at something across the room.

 

“That’s okay, I’m not mad.”

 

The boy nodded like he expected that answer, “I don’t want to be afraid.”

 

“You don’t have to be.”

 

His eyes were still unfocused, “I think I believe you, sir. I don’t know yet… but I think so.” Billie shivered and Mike sat down on the edge of the bed and pulled the blanket up closer to Billie’s chest, “Life here is better. ‘S almost like home…” he slurred and suddenly choked up, covering his face with his hands.

 

Mike just watched him, unsure what to do or say until Billie seemed to get control of himself again. The slave let his head fall back against the headboard and sighed.

 

“Billie…” There was something Mike wanted to ask him, but he couldn’t help but feel like he’d be taking advantage of Billie’s state. But Mike just shoved his guilt aside in favor of his curiosity, “What happened to you? I mean, how did you become a slave?”

 

He looked at Mike, seeming to gauge him for a moment, squinting his eyes and pursing his lips before confessing, “I did it for momma.” Mike frowned, about to ask what he meant when Billie continued, “She owed money. They were gonna take the house, they were gonna take  _her_ , sir.” His eyes were wide, scared and young, “I said no, not her. Take me. I was  _more_ , ‘cuz I was young, I was worth more. They wouldn’t need the house. Jus’ me. So they did.”

 

“Jesus, Billie… how old were you?”

 

“Thirteen. Momma couldn’t stop me, thirteen is legal age…” Billie’s eyes began to droop shut, “She hated me for it.” He shook his head, “Don’t care.”

 

“Billie… Why would you say that? I’m sure she doesn’t hate you…” Mike really didn’t know what to say. This whole conversation felt uncomfortable. He was taking advantage of Billie. The cold and flu medicine was like a truth serum, making Billie spill all the dirty details of his enslavement without thinking to hold any of it back.  
  
“Yes.” The little slave nodded, “I was her only child. I was all she had left and…” Billie’s eyes looked a little more alive, a little more awake as he spoke, “As soon as she found out what I’d done… she screamed at me… she slapped me.” A sheen of unshed tears welled up in Billie’s eyes, “Again and again. I was doing it for her but… I thought she’d be grateful. I thought I’d saved her but she only hates me now.” He blinked and two lines of hot tears burned down his cheeks, “I hate me.”

 

He sniffed and closed his eyes, a frown edged into the lines in his face, furrowing his brows.

 

Mike just stared at him, not expecting that at all. Not expecting to be told everything so frankly. Not expecting such a horrible story.

 

Billie’s head lolled on his neck and Mike snapped out of it, standing to help him lie down. He watched Billie curl up on his side and fall asleep. Mike blinked, volunteered at thirteen to save his mother’s life.

 

Mike spent the next half hour sitting in the bathroom, contemplating what Billie had said, about what he had gone through and being angry at the world and what it had become. But in the devastating mess of his thoughts, he decided on something good. He was going to find Billie’s mom and give her back her son.


	8. Chapter 8

The whole night Mike sat in front his busted, old computer in his storage room, looking through public records in Rodeo, California. He searched for a thirteen year old William Joseph and found nothing. This was the only information he had on Billie, the boy’s hometown, age of enslavement and a first and middle name. A last name would have really helped. Or his mother’s name would have really helped. Mike even read through everything on his proof of ownership paper’s he received at the market, trying to find anything that would help him find Billie’s public records. Then it hit him. Billie’s serial number.

 

Mike tip-toed into the bedroom and found Billie sleeping on his stomach. Carefully, he pulled the covers back from the boy and searched for the numbers on Billie’s arm. The boy had one arm tucked underneath the pillow while the other one lay on top of it. Mike prayed it was on the arm on top of the pillow. Gently holding Billie’s wrist Mike lifted it and bent his head to see. He blew a breath of relief when he saw the line of small numbers stretching horizontally across the skin on Billie’s forearm.

 

He quickly scribbled the numbers down on a pad of paper and covered Billie back up with the blankets. Mike nodded his thanks to the bottle of cold and flu medicine on his nightstand, knowing it was responsible for knocking the little slave out cold.

 

When he was back in front of the glowing screen of his monitor, Mike navigated through the public records search directory until he got to the section on slaves. He clicked on the search bar and held his breath as he typed in the nine digit number and hit enter on his keyboard.

 

His internet connection was shit and it took a moment for the page to load. Eventually a profile page came up displaying the slave serial number in bold letters at the top. Below it was a rough description of a male subject. Mike kept reading.

 

**103-986-409**

**Subject:**  Male. Caucasian.

 **Age:**  13

 **Height:**  5 foot.

 **Other:**  Dark hair, grn eyes.

 

 **Reason for enslavement:**  Outstanding debt belonging to parent of subject, Mrs. Ollie Armstrong, of $46,395.46 plus interest. Subject approximately worth $50,000.

 

 **Additional comments:** Subject will be sent to Orchard, Inc., New York for training and rehabilitation.

 

 

There was nothing else on the page. He supposed they didn’t spend too much time on each slave’s identity, past or whatever. But he had a name to go on. Ollie Armstrong. He could find her. Mike went back to the front page of the public records site he was on and typed in her name.

 

68 results.

 

He tried her name along with ‘California.’

 

14 results.

 

Mike scrolled through each name and wrote down all their telephone numbers. He debated calling them all now. It was 3:08 in the morning where he was, meaning it was about midnight in California. Mike decided to wait until morning. 

 

-//-

 

Billie shuffled miserably into the kitchen. His head was pounding and his bones felt weak and sore. He made his way into the living room and saw Mike collapsed and passed out on the couch. A morsel of anger wound its way into Billie’s chest as he watched Mike sleep. He’d woken up with the edge of a dream tormenting him, nagging at him to remember and it had taken a while to realize it hadn’t been a dream at all. Last night Mike had sat next to him while he lay sick in bed, delirious with flu medicine and asked him questions he would have never revealed to anyone, and especially to the man that represented everything he hated in his life.

 

Mike was his owner. He had bought him, collared him, brought him into his house and dressed him up like his own little plaything. Then when he was weak and vulnerable he made Billie tell him all the things he’d been locking up for years. Billie was just beginning to maybe trust the man and now he felt angry and betrayed. He knew it had been too good to be true, he knew he couldn’t ever trust a free man, especially one that  _owned_ him.

 

Billie glowered down at Mike a little longer, scenarios running through his head. Screaming at Mike, hitting him, breaking everything in the apartment in a fit of rage, running out the door and never coming back.

 

He sighed.

 

He knew he couldn’t do those things. A part of him still crippled by the fear installed in him at such a young age. He couldn’t do those things because he wasn’t supposed to, because he didn’t have the  _right_  to, literally.

 

Billie clenched his teeth, he felt so stuck. On one hand he wanted to explode, yell and scream and stomp his feet and break shit. But on the other hand he felt trapped. His rage felt confined, slamming up against the walls in his chest, needing to get out but knowing it never really could. Not without consequences. Not without Mike hitting back. Not without Mike throwing his ass back to the market.

 

His life depended on this asshole and there was nothing he could do about it except submit.

 

Billie fumed.

 

He was fucking tired of submitting.

 

-//-

 

The apartment was empty.

 

Mike panicked.

 

The apartment was empty. Billie was gone. Billie was gone and his collar was sitting abandoned on the kitchen counter.

 

Mike didn’t understand, where was he? Why did he leave? Why now? Mike paced quickly, thinking about where the slave could have gone. And really, where could he have gone?

 

Grabbing his coat and Billie’s collar, Mike left his apartment. He had to find the boy before something happened to him. He knocked on Tré’s door and when there was no response in five seconds he knocked again, “Tré! Open the fuck up!”

 

The door swung open and Tré looked irate, “What Mike?”

 

“Is Billie with you?” He asked hopefully.

 

“No, why?”

 

Mike’s stomach dropped, “Billie’s gone, we have to find him.”

 

“What? He’s gone? What do you mean he’s gone?”

 

“I don’t know, okay? I woke up and he wasn’t there, he was just gone.” Mike heard the uneasy pitch in his voice, he was terrified for Billie’s safety. And a little angry at him too. He had no idea what switch had flipped in that kid’s head to make him decide to venture out into the big bad world.

 

Tré disappeared for a moment and came back with his coat, “Well, where the Hell would he have gone?”

 

“I have no idea.”

 

“We could try the market?”

 

Mike shook his head, “Yeah, but I highly doubt it. How ‘bout you check there, I’ll check the park, homeless shelters? I really don’t know.”

 

“Sounds like a plan,” Tré shut the door behind him, “We’ll find him, Mikey. Don’t worry, we’ll get him back. We have to.”

 

Mike grimaced, they’d better or something terrible was going to happen to that kid. Again.


	9. Chapter 9

They had searched everywhere. Mike and Tré had checked the market, the park, the homeless shelters, the mall, they’d walked the streets well into the night calling Billie’s name. At two in the morning Tré knocked on every neighbor’s door in their complex and Mike called the police hoping they could somehow help. All they could tell him was that he should’ve had Billie chipped.

 

At a quarter to four in the morning Mike tossed Billie’s collar back on his kitchen counter and gave one last scope of the apartment, hoping maybe he’d dreamed it all and Billie would be sleeping soundly in his bed. But there was still no Billie. Mike’s apartment was silent.

 

Behind him, Tré sighed.

 

Mike turned to regard him, “Thanks Tré. For helping me look.”

 

“What are you going to do now?”

 

“I don’t know…” Mike shoved a hand through his hair, “Fuck, I really don’t know.”

 

Tré gave him a sympathetic look, “We can look again tomorrow.”

 

“I know… but… If we haven’t found him today I just feel like …the odds aren’t good man. I mean, I’m not gonna stop looking but…” Mike shook his head and turned his face away from Tré. There was a lump in his throat he couldn’t seem to swallow.

 

“Hey, we don’t know that. He could come back on his own you know?”

 

“I just don’t understand why he left in the first place…” Mike managed and shook his head again. He wanted Tré to leave. He felt like he was about to fall apart, the lump growing in his throat. He didn’t need Tré standing there, watching him.

 

Tré seemed to get it though, “Well, I’m beat man, I’m gonna go sleep. We’ll look again tomorrow? Kay?”

 

Mike just nodded, unable to meet his friend’s eyes. He bit his lip and tried to keep his breath steady, the insides of him felt like a pile of broken glass, poking through a flimsy plastic layer. Everything was ready to rip out of him and crash to the floor.

 

He heard the door shut behind him and Mike’s carefully held composer quickly began to crumble. He was slumped on the ground with tears wetting his cheeks before he had time to comprehend it. This had to have been his fault. He’d been thinking about this all day. The things Billie had told him last night he was never supposed to hear. And this morning the boy had woken up, feeling hurt and angry and embarrassed and he’d run.

 

Billie could be anywhere right now. At the hands of some psycho, alone in a dark alleyway, lying dead in the street, he had no idea. Mike had no idea and it was all his fault.

 

Mike pulled himself together and wandered into his bedroom. One of the shirts he’d bought Billie was lying on the ground and Mike picked it up, “Please… _please_  be alright.”

 

-//-

 

Billie Joe curled in on himself as coughs wracked his frail body. The cop who’d just punched him in the gut was standing over him, a look of disgust written in his features.

 

“ _Stop_ …” Billie wheezed out and before he could say another word a boot made connection with his spine, lighting it on fire.

 

It hurt and he cried out, tears springing to his eyes. How had he let this happen? He had been angry at Mike for invading his privacy which was absolutely ridiculous since it had been him to spill his life story after getting drunk off cold medicine.

 

It hadn’t taken long after his thoughtless decision to leave the apartment backfired and someone noticed he was out of place. It was painfully obvious that he didn’t fit in among the freemen that walked up and down the sidewalks and it didn’t take long for someone to ask him questions he didn’t want to answer.

 

It had started out innocent enough. He’d walked for some time unnoticed until he began to worry, until he began to regret leaving and saw he was lost. The sudden realization that he didn’t know how to get to back to Mike’s apartment hit him hard enough to stop Billie dead in his tracks.

 

He remembered the man who approached him in his state of panic. He was tall and friendly looking, wearing a tailored suit and framed glasses asking Billie, “Are you alright, son?”

 

And for the life of him Billie couldn’t remember what he’d said, how he’d looked to this man. But he remembered the way he nervously scratched his neck and the way the man’s eyes grew large and angry as he caught sight of his serial number inked on his forearm.

 

The rest was a slap in the face reminder of what he was. A slave that had no right walking out in public alone, unsupervised, uncollared. The man grabbed him, shook him and demanded answers as to why he wasn’t wearing a collar and where was his owner? And how  _dare_  he runaway. And while the man screamed at him and bystanders circled round to look at him with disgust all Billie could think about was how wrong they all were. How unfair it was to regard anybody less than human, how sick and tired he was of being treated like an animal. All he could think about was what a mistake he’d made and how badly he needed to get back home to Mike.

 

He’d eventually been handed over to the police, who gave him the same loathing stare as everybody else.

 

Kicking him again, the cop shook his head at Billie, “You’re pathetic.”

 

“No…” he croaked, and he wanted to shout  _you are, you sick fuck._  But the words stuck miserably in his throat. His jaw biting shut on words he couldn’t bare to let escape.

 

His tormentor sneered at him and backed out of the cell, slamming the bars shut and walking away.

 

Billie just lay on the floor, his jaw clenching and unclenching with his fists. Anger, fear and dejection swirled around in his head like a whirlpool, in his stomach like a hurricane. He choked on the intensity of it, wanting to let himself cry but knowing he couldn’t yet.

 

Not yet. Not now and certainly not  _here._

 

He groaned as he struggled to his feet. He had to get out of this place. He couldn’t stay here or it would break him all over again.

 

“Hey,” He called out, wincing at the tightness in his stomach, “Hey!”

 

“The fuck you think you’re-” a cop was plodding down to his cell and Billie interrupted him, “Sir, please, I have an owner.”

 

The cop eyeballed him, raking his eyes over undoubtedly his scar, “Yeah,” He laughed, “He blind?”

 

“His name’s Mike… uh…” Shit, Billie tried to remember. He thought about cleaning Mike’s apartment, organizing the mail. What name had been stamped on it?

 

“Yea, sure, we’ll go find Mike,” The cop rolled his eyes and began to walk away.

 

P… it was something with a P, “Pritchard! Wait, Sir, his name is Mike Pritchard.” He pressed himself up against the bars, hands wrapped around them, trying to see the policeman, “Please sir.”

 

“Yea, we’ll get right on that.” He called back.

 

Billie stared at the numbers tattooed on his forearm, the blank canvas slowing falling away. The thought of going back to the market, an auction, a warehouse, any of it terrified him. Yeah, Mike had messed up. Mike had betrayed his trust, but when was the last time he cared about anyone betraying his trust? When was the last time anybody  _had_  his trust?

 

He leaned his head against the bars and felt like his grip on them was the only thing keeping him from falling. He had royally messed up. Life with Mike had been decent. Hell, it had been  _good_  and he’d run away from it. Now, he was done for.

 

-//-

 

Mike was up bright and early, dressed and ready to go.

 

Almost.

 

In his hand was the list of numbers belonging to all the Ollie Armstrongs in California. Mike stared down at it, hoping like hell he hadn’t screwed this up. He needed to find Billie, he needed to find Ollie.

 

Mike stuffed the paper in his pocket and was ready to leave his apartment when the phone rang.

 

“Hello?”

 

“Is this a Mr. Pritchard?”

 

“Uh, yes.” Mike felt his heart skip.

 

“Hi, this is the Chief of Police at the Franklin Police Department,” The voice was at first formal and authority-like, but it softened as it continued, “You called here last night looking for your boy.”

 

Yes, Mike remembered calling several police stations, he remembered Franklin’s Chief of Police being the most sympathetic, “Yessir, have you found him?” Mike’s throat tightened, “Is he okay?”

 

“I got a call from a department a few towns over. Seems they picked up a slave last night that gave them some trouble, they don’t see too many slaves on that side of town. They were calling me for procedure. I think it’s your boy. Had a big scar right? On his face?”

 

“Yes, yes, that’s him,” Relief was flooding through Mike’s veins like a torrent.

 

“I asked them to send him over. He should be here soon if you wanted to-”

 

“Yea, I’ll be right there. Thank you, thank you sir, so much. Bye.”

 

Mike hung up the phone and grabbed his keys, too excited to think straight.

 

 

When Mike rushed into the police station, out of breath and eyes searching the room, a man stepped forward and held his hand out, “You must be Mike. Richard Mulloy, I spoke to you on the phone.”

 

“Right,” Mike shook his hand, “Thanks again for finding him for me.”

 

“It was dumb luck really. He’s in my office, right this way.”

 

Mike followed Richard down a small hallway, for the first time beginning to feel nervous about seeing Billie again.

 

“The, uh, cops downtown, they roughed him up a little. Just so you know…” Richard trailed off and Mike tightened his jaw.

 

Some of the anger and confusion he’d felt at Billie’s sudden disappearance returned. If he hadn’t’ve left he never would have gotten hurt.

 

Richard opened the first door they came to and excused himself, “I’ll be back at the front if you need me. Take care.”

 

When he was standing alone in the hallway, Mike walked into the office unsure of what to expect.

 

Billie was sitting up in a comfy office chair, his eyes were downcast and a bright red bruise was covering his cheek.

 

“Jesus, Billie.” Mike stood in the doorway, anger coiling in his gut, “What the hell were you thinking?”

 

Billie rose from the chair and tried to shrug past Mike without making eye contact, but Mike stopped him with a hand on his shoulder, “ _Hey_ , I’m talking to you.”

 

He stared down at Billie, waiting for him to say something, wishing he would just tell Mike why he felt he’d needed to leave. Why it was so important for him to get away.

 

Billie pushed against him, trying to get around him and Mike raised his voice, “What the fuck is wrong with you? Why did you leave me?” Immediately, Mike felt the urge to cringe. That came out much harsher that he’d intended. Not to mention needy.

 

But before he had time to amend himself, Billie’s voice lashed out at him like a viper, “ _Fuck_  you, Mike.”

 

The boy shoved past him and Mike was left speechless in the Chief’s office.

 

-//-

 

Billie sat in the passenger seat of Mike’s car, angry and relieved and terrified and numb all at the same time. He instantly regretted yelling at Mike at the police station, his emotions too raw to think straight, and for a second he was scared Mike would retaliate. But they remained in heated silence since they’d left.

 

No, he hadn’t really been angry at Mike at all, he was angry at the people that accepted slavery, the people that saw him as less than human. He was angry at the cops who’d hit him, angry at the slave merchant who tried to kill him, angry at the warehouse workers that took him every night, angry at Master James for letting him believe he was worthless, angry at the slave trainers that had broken him, angry at the men who’d pulled him out of his mother’s grasping arms and most of all, angry at himself for  _ever_  letting any of it happen. For ever letting himself break and forget who he was.

 

Mike pulled the car over and threw the gearshift in park hard enough for the whole vehicle to shudder on the pavement. He ripped the keys out of the ignition and slammed the door shut in Billie’s face.

 

Billie followed numbly behind as Mike stomped up the stairs and threw open the apartment door the same time Tré opened his to see what the commotion was.

 

Billie would have laughed at how fast and how many times Tré’s face changed as he read their situation, first looking peeved at the noise his neighbor was making on the stairs, then surprised over Billie’s return followed by furrowed eyebrows over his friend’s angry stance.

 

“Hey! What-…guys?” He looked like he was ready to follow them into the apartment until Mike slammed the front door behind them.

 

Billie almost felt bad for Tré.

 

Once they were back in the apartment relief settled over Billie. He’d missed the place, it felt like home.

 

Mike chucked his keys onto the kitchenette table top where they chinked and slid until they almost dropped off the other side.

 

Then he whirled on him, “Where the fuck do you get off telling  _me_  to fuck off?”

 

The outburst didn’t surprise Billie and he was ready to apologize and explain when Mike continued.

 

“I took you in!” Mike continued, “I  _bought_ you, clothed you, fed you when I barely

had enough money to do those things for myself. I gave you a home, I took care of you and I saved your goddamn life and this is the thanks I get?”

 

Billie listened and found himself getting aggravated, he’d been yelled at enough since he left the apartment, he didn’t need this. Before Mike could say anymore Billie opened his mouth and threw back his own words, matching Mike in volume and surprising himself, “Yeah, you  _bought_  me. That must make me yours to use as you like, is that right? I get it, I better appreciate these clothes and your food, I better say ‘please,’ and ‘thank you’ like you’re doing me some kind of favor. I better bend over and take it all with a smile on my face because you saved my life. I  _owe_  you, right?”

 

Mike said nothing, the anger in his face seemed to dissipate, “…No, I… I couldn’t just let you die.”

 

“Well maybe you should have!” Billie spit out and he felt something shatter in the pit of all his anger, his vision quickly blurred. Not  _yet!_

 

He turned and grabbed the first thing he could find, the big black coffee mug that Mike drank out of at least three times every morning that read “Instant human, just add coffee,” Billie turned and hurled it at the glass coffee table in Mike’s living room.

 

Glass exploded all over the carpet, Mike’s mug cracked apart into three huge pieces and Billie felt some of his anger return, “Why the  _fuck_  did you save me? What good am I?!” He was screaming so loud there was no doubt in his mind Tré could hear it all, hell, Mike’s neighbors downstairs could hear it all, “I’ll never be anything more than a  _goddamn slave!_ ” His voice cracked and fell on the last word.

 

Tears made hot tracks down his cheeks and Billie felt his whole body begin to tremble. Mike was there in an instant, supporting him and setting him down on the step that divided Mike’s living room and kitchen. Billie wrapped his arms around Mike’s neck and held on tight as sobs wracked his body. All his fury was draining out of him almost as fast as it had come and Billie only felt himself begin to grieve for the life he lost to slavery.

 

-//-

 

Billie was a mess. His body convulsed and shuddered in his grip and Mike did his best to hold on tight, to be the solid and unyielding supporter he needed to be.

 

Rocking the little slave, Mike couldn’t believe what had happened. Seeing Billie act out, curse at him, slam doors, break shit, _scream_  at him… he had seemed like an entirely different person than the meek, fearful little slave he had brought home all those weeks ago. It had caught Mike off guard and he had believed it, fell for the furious, hateful demeanor that had taken over his newly acquired roommate, his newly acquired friend.

 

But looking back, Mike understood. He had pushed Billie just far enough, he had drawn that last straw, and most importantly he had given Billie just enough leeway, just enough trust and confidence in his life to allow himself to act out as he had.

 

This was something that had been repressed in Billie for  _years_ , something that had been buried yet growing, waiting to break out just the way it had. Mike found himself smiling as he rocked Billie, not a joyful smile, but a proud smile that was acknowledging the trust Billie had put in Mike, and the trust he’d allowed Mike to put in him. Billie was making progress.

 

 

It took a long time for things to calm down and it took an even longer time for the two of them to stand up. Mike’s leg was numb and his back was tight as he straightened out and hobbled his way to the bedroom. A couple minutes later they were both seated in bed, their backs against the head board.

 

Billie’s face was red, his eyes were swollen and puffy and he was still sniffing the last of the snot and tears away, “I’m sorry, sir.” His voice was rough and congested, and loud after so much silence.

 

Mike was tempted to laugh at the returned use of ‘sir,’ after being screamed and sworn at it seemed to have lost its credibility. Not that Mike needed it, “It’s alright. You have every right to hate me.”

 

“I don’t hate you, sir. I wasn’t even mad at you.” Billie used the palm of his hand to wipe at his runny nose, which by now looked red and raw.

 

“That wasn’t mad at me? Boy, would I hate to see you when you actually are.” Mike laughed, real amusement flooding through him.

 

Billie laughed a little in return, “No, actually, I wasn’t. I was mad at everything… at myself.” His voice sobered and he turned to look Mike in the eye, “Mike…sir, you’ve done so much for me. You’ve given me a second chance. You treat me like a real person. You’ve given me so much reason to trust you and I only betrayed it by running away.” He shook his head and wrapped his arms around himself, seeming unable to say more.

 

Mike sighed, this kid felt guilty for everything when he had no reason to be. Mike was the one who should be feeling guilty; he was the one who went prying into the boy’s life after all, “Billie, I’m not mad at you either. I was, but that was mostly because I was just scared and confused. I didn’t understand why you ran, but, it was because of what you told me wasn’t it? The questions I asked? I shouldn’t have pried like that. It was none of my business.”

 

Billie just looked up at him, his eyes large and wet. It was like a replay of the night he was doped on cold and flu medicine, his face so sad and pathetic.

 

“I know I crossed a line there. I just really wanted to know what had happened to you.”

 

Billie stayed quiet and Mike debated telling him about his snooping, about looking up his file on the internet, about looking for his mom. But now didn’t feel like the right time, it felt like now was the worst possible time to tell that truth.

 

They remained silent for a while until they both eventually sunk under the covers and fell asleep.


	10. Chapter 10

Billie was unable to move. His limbs were strapped down to the cold surface beneath him. Something tight was around his neck, choking him. His heart thudded in his ears so loud it sounded like he was drowning beneath waves. What was happening? Where was he? Fear was an old familiar friend of his, keeping him obedient, keeping him quiet.

 

Footsteps echoed somewhere in the darkness. They were coming near him and Billie knew not to make a sound.

 

“I’ve missed you, my boy.” A familiar voice said and Billie’s throat clenched at the sound of it. Panic began to seize him; icy fear grabbing hold of his heart and slithering down his veins like poison. 

 

In the darkness above his head a face came into view, the whites of the eyes and the toothy grin glowing in front of him, “Did you miss me?”

 

The voice waved something in front of his face and Billie caught the glint of the serrated knife before it was tearing at his face, ripping screams out of his throat as it carved into his chest, dragging. Master James’ laughter howled in his ears.

 

 

Billie fought for breath as he woke. His chest was heaving and his heart was racing. Sweat clung to his forehead, to his back and chest and Billie sat up and tried to calm his breathing.

 

Next to him, Mike still slept.

 

He climbed out of bed and slung his shirt off, relishing the cool air on his chest. Pacing, Billie tried to remember the dream, tried to remember what had scared him awake. But he couldn’t. It slipped out of his head before he could grasp any of it.

 

Leaving the bedroom, Billie wandered into the hall and focused on taking deep breaths. He was facing the door across from the bathroom; he had no idea what the door was to. Mike had never mentioned it and so Billie had just thought he wasn’t allowed.

 

He reached out and turned the handle, giving it a push. The door swung open with a bit of a creak. Flipping the light on turned out to be anticlimactic.

 

There was a cheap desk up against one wall with a big, fat white computer sitting on it. It sat dark and quiet and though Billie didn’t know much about computers he could tell how old this one was compared to the sleek computer Master James had kept at his house. Billie imagined this room was built to be a second bedroom if the empty closet told him anything. But there was no bed, no carpet and no dressers. There were only four large cardboard boxes against the opposite wall. Mike’s name was scrawled on the sides of each box. Billie moved to the first one and pried the cardboard flaps open, curiosity getting the better of him. Inside smelled musty and full of dust bunnies, like the insides of Mike’s favorite books.  

 

The first thing Billie saw inside the box was a bundle of photographs. They seemed random in their order, a picture of a toddler smiling in a bubble bath, white foam covering his head and shoulders, a baby sleeping in his crib, a young man with red bumps dotting his forehead and chin, wearing a bright blue graduation gown and cap, a boy posing in his soccer uniform. The faces were all the same, just at different stages in life and Billie had no trouble recognizing the bright blue eyes, the high cheekbones and the thin smile.

 

Billie put down the pictures and sifted through some of the other items in the box, a piece of a quilt, a whistle on a keychain, a stuffed dog, ticket stubs from some old movie, a baseball cap, more ticket stubs from some sort of fair or concert, Billie wasn’t sure. He spotted an old pair of sneakers and a couple guitar picks along with a package of cigarettes still in its plastic wrapping and a thick, silver ring hanging from a threaded necklace. Billie handled all these items carefully, realizing these were the pieces of Mike’s childhood and young adulthood that he couldn’t bare to part with. Of all people Billie felt he understood best how hard it could be to let go of young memories.

 

A flash of his mother’s face came to mind, her warm smile and gentle touch and an overwhelming feeling of loss and sadness took over him. Carefully laying all of Mike’s things back in the box, Billie folded the cardboard flaps back together and stepped out of the room.

 

He shuffled into the kitchen and flicked on the light. Something twinkled in the living room and it took Billie a second to realize it was the remains of Mike’s coffee table. A pang of guilt hit and Billie pulled out the garbage can from under the sink and a dish rag to start throwing all the pieces away.

 

Dropping to his knees in the living room, the words he and Mike screamed at each other played over in his head. It was hard to believe it had actually happened. Billie hissed as a tiny piece of glass imbedded in his palm. There were hundreds of tiny shards of glass spread out all underneath the table, all of them twinkling in the light from the kitchen. Billie glanced at the clock on Mike’s DVD player.

 

1:27

 

He was going to be up for a while.

 

 

It was 3:08 when Billie ran his hands one last time through the carpet and was satisfied when he didn’t feel the sting of glass against his fingers. He stood and carried the trash back to the kitchen, the glass inside tinkling amongst themselves.

 

He went into the bathroom and closed the door. Standing in front of the mirror he gave his sunken eyes and hollow cheeks a cursory glance before turning on the sink faucet. He let the water run hot and watched as steam rose and crawled up the mirror, hiding his starved image in a thick fog.

 

The heat felt good and Billie wanted more of it. He turned off the sink in favor of the shower and shed the rest of his clothes from his body. All his thoughts, all his sadness and regrets seemed to dissipate the moment his body was enveloped by steam and scalding water. He sat down on the bottom of the tub and curled his knees to his chest, resting his head on them and letting the water beat on his back and shoulders and swirl around his feet. He closed his eyes and let the shower wash away the last of his stress. A calm overtook him and Billie sat in the water until it changed to lukewarm, until it changed to icy cold.

 

Goosebumps pricked across his arms and legs until every hair on his body was standing on edge and he began to shiver. He reached forward and turned the water off. But he wasn’t ready to leave and Billie continued to sit in the shower, his head blissfully silent.

 

-//-

 

When Mike woke the apartment was empty again and a spike of panic ripped through his body. All he could think was not this, not  _again_  before he realized the bathroom door was shut.

 

“Billie?” He wrapped his knuckles a few times and listened. There was no sound.

 

“Are you in there?” Still, silence.

 

Mike’s heart thumped and he started to worry again. He reached for the doorknob to fling it open, half expecting the bathroom to be empty and half expecting to find Billie in the bathtub, wrists slit.

 

Billie was in the bathtub, but he was alive and breathing. His gaze was unfocused and far away.

 

“Bill?”

 

He was naked, his legs stretched the length of the tub and his shoulders rested against the tile. Billie’s fingers were idly tracing his scar, slowly dancing down the side of his chest and stomach like he was playing the strings of a guitar.

 

“Hey,” Mike squatted next to the bathtub. Despite the small amount of weight he’d put on since being here, Billie was still too skinny, too bony. Mike saw the big purplish black bruise mottling the boy’s stomach, matching the color of the now purple-black bruise on Billie’s cheek, “Billie.” Mike reached out and covered Billie’s hands with his own, stopping his movements.

 

The little slave blinked and his chest hitched and Mike felt like he was back, “You alright?”

 

Billie swallowed and his eyes focused. He looked at Mike and shook his head, swallowing again like his throat was dry, like he couldn’t get his tongue to work.

 

“How long have you been in here?”

 

Mike reached out to help Billie stand when the little slave leaned forward and braced his hands on the tub. His balance was off and he leaned heavily on Mike, “Three.”

 

His voice was scratchy like he’d been sleeping and the sound of it so close to Mike’s ear made him shiver. Now was not the time to be thinking about Billie that way, not when he was so naked and vulnerable, literally.

 

Mike tried to shake the feeling away and Billie’s words finally registered with him, “Wait, three?” He was setting Billie down on the closed toilet seat, “You’ve been in here since three?”

 

Billie just nodded, “You might be out of hot water.”

 

Mike grabbed a towel from the cabinet next to the sink and handed it to Billie, “That’s the least of my worries right now, Bill.”

 

He watched the little slave wince as he slung the towel around his shoulders, his back must have been stiff from sitting in the tub for four and a half hours, no doubt.

 

Billie’s forehead creased as he looked up at Mike and frowned, “I’m worried about  _you_ , not the hot water.” Mike clarified.

 

“Oh,” was all he said, and pulled the towel closer around himself.

 

Mike sighed, “Billie, you know you can talk to me about anything. Whatever is keeping you awake at night… or in the bathtub, I can help you.”

 

Billie gave a tight smile and nodded, “Yessir.”

 

“You don’t have to keep calling me ‘sir.’ I think we’re past that, aren’t we?”

 

Billie just shrugged.

 

Chewing his lip, Mike watched Billie for a moment before offering him his hand, “Okay, well let’s get you dressed,” Immediately Mike felt his cheeks blush at his choice of words, “Or  _you_  get you dressed, y’know…”

 

Billie didn’t seem to notice or care, however, and accepted Mike’s hand.

 

-//-

 

He was wearing a pair of Mike’s pajama pants and the hoodie Mike had bought for him. Today felt like a cozy day, Billie thought.

 

His bones felt achey and sore from spending the night on hard porcelain. Mike had placed him in the big recliner and turned on some morning cartoons but Billie wasn’t watching the TV. He was watching Mike bustle around in the kitchen, making a cup of coffee. A twinge of guilt hit him though as he remembered smashing Mike’s favorite coffee mug to pieces.

 

Mike came in and sat down on couch, the thermos mug he usually brought to work nestled in his hands. Billie just stared at it.

 

“How’s the cartoon?”

 

He glanced at the TV. A yellow sponge wearing a tie was talking to a squirrel in an astronaut suit.

 

“Weird. I think they’ve changed since I last watched them…”

 

Mike chuckled into his thermos mug, “Yeah, I guess they’ve gotten weirder.” He picked up the remote and flipped it to some sort of soap opera which Billie thought wasn’t much better.

 

“Are you hungry?” Mike asked him.

 

“No-”

 

“Thirsty? Cold? I could get you a blanket.” He was looking at Billie like he was about to break.

 

“No, I’m fine, sir. Really. Stop worrying.”

 

Shaking his head, Mike said, “It’s just, you don’t  _seem_  fine. With everything that’s been happening lately…”

 

Billie pulled the sleeves of his hoodie over his hands, “I know… or I don’t know. I don’t really know how to be fine, y’know? I’m just trying to deal with it.”

 

Mike nodded like Billie had said something really wise, “I think that’s what it is. You’ve never been given a chance to deal with it yet. You’ve been  _surviving_  this whole time, now you have the chance to look back at it.

 

It sounded so surreal when Mike said it, but Billie understood at once that Mike was right. It was behind him.

 

Of course, he was still a slave, but with Mike he didn’t  _feel_ like one. Not with the way Mike treated him, or Tré even. He was safe here and safe wasn’t a luxury slaves ever had.

 

Mike gave him a little smile and Billie mirrored it.

 

“You know Billie,” Mike’s fingers dug into his pocket, “I’ve actually been looking for someone that I think-”

 

The phone rang, interrupting Mike. Billie watched as his fingers stayed in his pocket for a moment before he pulled them out empty and stood to answer the phone, “Hang on.”


	11. Chapter 11

That had felt like the opportune moment to tell Billie he’d been trying to find his mother. Mike sighed and picked up the phone, wondering who it was that had ruined his moment, “Hello?”

 

“Hey, you’re alive!”

 

The voice was Tré’s, “Alive?”

 

“Yeah, you two didn’t kill each other last night! Congratulations. God, that was that kid screaming at you last night? He finally cracked, huh?”

 

Tré made it sound like Billie’s breakdown had been so easily predictable.

 

“Yeah, um, things are fine. Where are you?”

 

“Home. I just didn’t wanna chance walking into a crime scene.”

 

“Well, all’s quiet on the western front if you wanted to stop by?”

 

“I’ve got some stuff I gotta do first, but maybe after. And hey, I’m glad things are okay between you two though. Seriously man, it didn’t sound too good last night but I know how much you care for him Mikey. I know what he’s become to you.”

 

“Thanks, Tré.” Mike briefly wondered how the hell his neighbor had ever become so sensible in the first place.

 

“Alright, I gotta go. Later masturbator!” Tré hung up and Mike blushed on his end of the line, knowing Tré was just being his crude self but thinking of his dirty extracurricular activities regarding Billie anyway.

 

 

Billie fell asleep curled up in the recliner and Mike spent most of the day just watching him. He still couldn’t get over his attraction toward the kid and it only seemed to be growing more and more each day. And after everything that had happened, it was a relief to have him back home, safe and sound.

 

 

 

It was later in the day, Billie had been dozing for almost three hours when Tré knocked on the door and let himself in, scaring Billie awake.

 

“It’s just Tré,” Mike told him quickly when Billie sat up, wide eyes searching the room.

 

“What, were you sleeping?” Tré peered around the big recliner and gave Billie a wave, “I brought beer!” he brandished a twelve pack for them to see.

 

“I don’t think I’m old enough to drink,” Billie yawned and rubbed his eyes and Mike just thought he was the cutest fucking thing in the world.

 

“Who gives a shit,” Tré laughed, “Laws are meant to be broken.”

 

“I think that’s ‘rules’, Tré.” Mike said and took the beer from his friend, placing it on the kitchen counter.

 

“Potato, potahto. Anyway, here,” Tré took a can out of the pack and tossed it to Billie who fumbled with it as it hit his chest and fell into his lap.

 

“Tré!” Mike yelled, “Have you ever had a beer, Bill?”

 

“Uhh, no sir.” Billie held it out for Mike to take.

 

He just shook his head, “You can have some if you want, I don’t care.” Mike cracked open his own beer and clinked cans with Tré’s. He felt like he needed this.

 

They both watched as Billie snapped his open and took a sip. His face contorted in an instant and Mike couldn’t help but laugh, “Yeah, it’s an acquired taste, I guess.”

 

“Hey, that’s cool, more for me!” Tré opened his own and chugged about half of it before setting it down, “Alright, who wants to play Skat?”

 

“I don’t have any cards.”

 

“Aw, buzzkill… Hey, got some paper? I can make a deck.”

 

“You’re going to make a deck of cards out of paper? Tré, you’re not even drunk yet and you’re coming up with drunk ideas.” Mike shook his head, there was no way he was going to clean up the scraps of paper and whatever mess Tré would leave behind from trying to make his own deck, “I think I have some board games? Let me go look.”

 

Mike went into his storage room and rifled through the boxes of his old things. He could only come up with an old Monopoly box. As he stood to lift the game out of the box his eye caught on the old computer and he remembered the piece of paper he wrote down all those telephone numbers on. It was still in his pocket and the more he thought about it the more it seemed to be burning a hole there.

 

Flicking off the light to the room, Mike emerged with Monopoly and tossed it on the counter, “Hey, this is all I could find, I’m gonna go look in the basement, I might have some cards or something better down there.” It was a lie, he stored none of his own stuff in the building’s basement but Mike suddenly needed to call those numbers.

 

“Monopoly! What could be better than this? Hey Billie, you know how to play?” Tré was already pulling the board and the fake money out of the box.

 

Billie gave Mike an uneasy look, “I’ll be right back, don’t worry.” Mike smiled at him before slipping into the hallway. Instead of going down to the basement, Mike went into the stairwell and pulled out his cell phone.

 

-//-

 

If he had to be honest, Tré scared him a little. The guy was virtually harmless but he had a lot more energy than most people did. It put Billie on edge.

 

Taking a seat at the kitchenette’s counter, Billie eyed the colorful money Tré was handling, “I think I’ve played it before.”

 

“Well, first you pick one of these pieces to play,” He laid out a handful of tiny, silver objects.

 

Billie looked at each one but he couldn’t seem to figure out their importance. They seemed random, a dog, a shoe, a car, an iron, a hat, a wheelbarrow, a boat and a… a thimble.

 

He picked up the thimble and studied it, “I remember this.”

 

“Oh, so you have played? Good.”

 

Billie shook his head, not the game. He held up the thimble, “This. She used to use this.”

 

Tré stopped organizing the money, “She?”

 

“Momma… um, my mother… she used to sew, that’s all.” Billie set down the playing piece. His head was being filled with images of her and it hurt.

 

Tré was carefully watching him, “Hey,” he tapped his half emptied beer can, “Sure you don’t drink?”

 

Billie looked up at him, then at the beer. He understood what alcohol did to people, often times it was unpleasant. It made them loud and angry and grabby. But he also understood that it made them feel better when they were in pain, it made them not care, “I could start.”

 

-//-

 

There were fourteen numbers on Mike’s list and he had called the first eleven of them. Some didn’t answer so he left a message, some answered but didn’t have a son lost to slavery, and others didn’t live at that residency anymore.

 

He dialed the number to the third last Ollie Armstrong on the list and listened to it ring. He was shocked to say the least when the answering machine picked up and this is what he heard, “This is Ollie Armstrong’s number you’ve reached. If you have any information regarding my son please call me at 585-555-1837. Otherwise please leave a message and I’ll get back to you.”

 

There was a click as the message ended and then the beep. Mike hung up and dialed again so he could catch the number once more.

 

Really, he shouldn’t have been surprised. Billie was this woman’s only son and she had to have spent the last four or five years dedicated to looking for him. Mike remembered it was  _her_  debt Billie had been taken for. Her voice on the message had sounded aged and tired and he couldn’t imagine how she felt.

 

He searched his pockets and the stairwell quickly before climbing back up the stairs and quietly letting himself into Tré’s apartment. Grabbing a pen and paper, Mike listened to the message for a second time, scribbled down the number and hung up before dialing the new one.

 

Again, he listened to the phone ring, but this time his heart was hammering in his chest, this time there was so much more waiting for him on the other end of the line.

 

“Hello?” She answered and Mike froze for a moment, forgetting everything he wanted to say, “Hello?”

 

“Hi! Sorry… um, my name is Mike.” He listened for a moment but the line was quiet, “Um, is this Ollie? Ollie Armstrong?”

 

Her voice was soft when she answered, “Yes.”

 

“You’re looking for your son?”

 

There was a long pause and when he heard her again she sounded far away, “…yes.” She sniffed and when her voice spoke again it was louder, but thick with emotion, “Did you find him? Is he alive?”

 

Mike had never felt happier answering a question before, “Yes. He’s okay.”

 

“Oh my God,” Her voice faded like she pulled herself away from the phone for a moment. Mike heard her crying and felt his own eyes well with tears, “Oh my God, my baby, oh my Lord,” she came back, “He’s alive? He’s okay? Are you sure?”

 

Mike’s laugh was thick and he sniffed back tears, “Yeah, he’s okay.”

 

“Oh my…  _Billie_ , what- how did you find him? Where is he?”

 

The smile on Mike’s face was so wide it was hurting his cheeks, “It’s a long story.”

 

“Can I talk to him?” Ollie’s voice was shaky with tears, “Please, can I talk to my baby? Can I talk to my son?”

 

“He’s not actually here right now-”

 

“What do you mean? I want to talk to him, please. Please, what was your name again?”

 

“Mike, but-”

 

“Oh, Mike, please let me talk to him, I need to know he’s alright. I need to know he’s alive” She began to cry again and Mike’s chest seized.

 

“I’m sorry, I can’t. He doesn’t really know I’m calling you…”

 

“What do you mean?” She was frantic and Mike understood she wasn’t really hearing him, she was too anxious to confirm that her son was truly alive and okay, “Who are you?”

 

“Mrs. Armstrong, please. I want you to talk to him; I want you to come see him. He just doesn’t know that I’ve even found you yet. Where are you?”

 

The line was quiet again.

 

“Mrs. Armstrong?”

 

“New York. Rochester.”

 

“Wow, that’s close-”

 

“I’ve been looking for him for six years, I better be close.”

 

“Six years? Wait, he’s nineteen?”

 

“What?”

 

“Um, no, he just… he thought he was younger. I mean, he wasn’t sure.”

 

There was a beat before she said, “When can I see him?”

 

“I don’t know yet. Can I call you back?”

 

“Wait, I don’t know who you are. I don’t know  _where_  you are. I can’t just let you hang up, please. I need to know, I need to hear him or see him, something, please. I need to know he’s okay.  _Please_. He’s my  _son,_  please…”

 

Mike swallowed and tried to think of something to tell this woman, something that would make her trust him, “He’s… he’s amazing.”

 

“What?”

 

“He’s amazing. He’s sweet and funny. And small,” Mike laughed, “He didn’t get much bigger since he was thirteen, I’ll bet. He loves books and music. He’s smart, he can read people well. He  _had_  to read people well. He had to know what they would do to him.”

 

He could hear a sob break on the other end of the line.

 

“He’s been through a lot. And he’s just beginning to trust again. I betrayed that trust once already and made him tell me about how he was enslaved. I haven’t told him about tracking you down.”

 

“Why would that matter, I mean, why would that be a bad thing? Doesn’t he want to see me?”

 

Ollie’s voice was strained and Mike knew how fragile her situation was, how fragile Billie’s was, “Yes, of course,” he knew deep down Billie needed to be reunited with his mother, he  _knew_  that. He needed to see she didn’t hate him for what he did, how could she? She could only be hating herself.  _He_ would only be hating himself if he were in her position. A mother would always feel responsible for her son’s life, “Of course he wants to see you.”

 

 

Mike hung up the phone with Ollie and cursed when he realized he’d been gone almost two hours. They probably went to go look for him.

 

When he made it back to the apartment things were not quite how he left them.

 

Tré was sitting at the kitchen counter, a pile of paper scrapings surrounding him and a pair of scissors in his hands, “Hey! Mikey! Where have you been, man?” He was making his own deck of cards.

 

“ _Treeeé…_  what are you doing?” The Monopoly game had been tossed to the ground, paper money all over his kitchen floor, “Where’s Billie?”

 

“Here!”

 

Mike turned at the sound of Billie’s voice, which was oddly cheery, and found the boy himself lying on the ground under the naked frame of Mike’s coffee table. He had changed into one of Mike’s favorite Ramones T-shirts.

 

“Billie, I bought you your own clothes for a reason.”

 

“I know, but your clothes smell like you, and my clothes smell like me.” Billie made a face, as if the idea of his clothes smelling like himself was disgusting.

 

“What are you… are you drunk? Tré is he drunk?”

 

“Yes and no. But mostly yes.”

 

“Are  _you_  drunk?”

 

“I wish. No, he drank almost the whole twelve pack.”

 

“I have to pee again.” Billie said from the floor.

 

Mike helped him stand and step over the frame of his coffee table. He stunk of beer. He directed him to the bathroom and turned back to Tré, “Why would you let him get drunk?”

 

“I felt bad for him, man,” Tré snipped another rectangular piece of paper with his scissors. He picked up a blue sharpie and drew a rough drawing of a club in the bottom corner, “He started thinking about his mom and he got all sad.”

 

Mike’s heart stuttered at the mention of Billie’s mom and he thought back to the conversation he’d just had with her. He had given her his phone number but asked to please not call or use it to try and find where he lived until he talked to Billie and could call her back himself.

 

“Anyway, I thought it’d be nice if he could just not think about it for a little while.” Tré continued and drew some more crude clubs in the corners of the paper.

 

Mike thought maybe Tré was right and decided to let it go, “Why are you using blue for a 3 of clubs?”

 

“You know that you don’t have  _one_  black pen or marker in this house? Not  _one!_  All I could find were blue pens and blue markers. What kind of person lives like this? No cards, no black ink to make the cards…”

 

“Yeah, which I specifically remember asking you not to do.”

 

Tré just shrugged and capped the marker, picking up his scissors to cut up some more paper.

 

Billie came out of the bathroom then and stumbled into the kitchen. His eyes were red and glassy, “I’m tired, Mike.”

 

Mike frowned, “Yeah, okay, let’s go. Tré, I’ll see you later?”

 

“Awww, fine. But I’m taking these.” He picked up the pile of cards he’d already made and saluted Mike on his way to the door, “Let’s do this again sometime, Billie-boy.”

 

“Sure thing Tré-boy.” Billie responded and Mike just laughed at him.

 

The door clicked behind Tré and Mike herded Billie to the bedroom. He was wobbly on his feet and Mike held onto his arm to steady him, “You okay, bud?” Billie’s skin was flushed and hot to the touch.

 

He plopped Billie down on the side of the bed and regarded him. His eyes were half shut and his hands were limp on his lap, “Mike?”

 

“Yeah, Bill?”

 

“How come you never touched me?” His words were slurred and it took a moment for Mike to understand what he said.

 

When he did he was taken aback by the question, “Because you trust me not to.”

 

“But you want to?” Billie peered up at him like he was looking into a bright light.

 

Mike shook his head, why the hell was Billie asking him this? “No, I-”

 

“Don’t lie.” For a moment he sounded clear and sober and Mike panicked, had this all been a ploy? But no, Billie was smashed. His breath reeked of it and his eyes were glossy in the way only alcohol could make them, “I see you, Mike. I see you ‘n I see how you see me.”

 

Floundering, Mike thought of what to say. He knew he shouldn’t be lying to Billie, but he didn’t want to tell the truth, it would only push Billie further away. There seemed to be no way out.

 

“Billie…” he sighed and prayed that the alcohol would do its job in the morning and make Billie forget, “Yes. I like you. A lot. And I wish I could do something with these feelings but I can’t. But, I promise you Billie, I’m never going to act on them. I never want to hurt you and I never want you to be afraid of me.”

 

Billie frowned, his drunken, sleepy eyes were nothing but slits at this point, “Tha’s dumb, Mike.”

 

“What?”

 

“I’m not ‘fraid of you.” Billie flopped back on the bed and a smile crossed his face, “Night, Mike.” He giggled and turned onto his stomach and Mike was left a little bewildered by Billie’s reaction to his dirty little secret.

 

He shook his head and flicked off the light, “Goodnight, Billie Joe.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay - I just want to say that I KNOW how easy it would have been for Mike or Billie to learn Billie's age. Like derp, just ask what year it is... but I wrote it into the story in a couple places - not knowing his age - and now there's this part... like a month or whatever after Mike acquired Billie. But just go with it. Or pretend its not there. Sorry. I just liked the fact that Mike finds out from Billie's mom he's older than they thought.


	12. Chapter 12

His breath smelled like carcass. Billie groaned and buried his face into the pillow. What had happened yesterday?  
  
He remembered Tré, the board game and feeling sad. He remembered drinking beer. Oh god, he remembered drinking a lot of beer.  
  
Billie rolled over and pushed himself into a sitting position. He had a headache but it wasn’t too bad. He was also wearing Mike’s clothes?   
  
The black Ramones T-shirt was hanging off one shoulder and Mike’s sweatpants were halfway down his butt. Billie climbed out of bed and let the sweatpants fall around his ankles. He didn’t remember changing into Mike’s clothes.  
  
He tugged the T-shirt off too and dropped it next to the pants. The apartment sounded empty and Mike wasn’t in bed. Billie just assumed he was at work.  
  
He felt gross, his breath was gross and his skin felt oily, he just wanted to take a shower and feel clean again. On his way to the door Billie kicked off his boxers as well and reached for the doorknob.  
  
It turned beneath his hand and swung open. Mike had his thermos in his hand, “Oh, Billie!” He looked up and away from his body, “Why are you never wearing clothes?”  
  
“Sorry,” He pulled his boxers back on, “I thought you were at work.”  
  
Mike’s cheeks were red, “Yeah, I’m leaving soon.”  
  
Billie shuffled over to the dresser and pulled out some clean clothes. He could feel Mike’s eyes on his back.  
  
“Billie?”  
  
Mike’s voice was hesitant and Billie briefly wondered if he’d done something phenomenally stupid in his drunk haze last night, “Yeah?”  
  
A pause of silence followed before Mike said, “Nevermind.”  
  
For the rest of the day Billie wracked his brain to try and remember what he’d done in his drunk stupor.   
  
-//-  
  
Mike couldn’t stop thinking about Billie. He couldn’t stop thinking about what he’d told Billie last night, how the boy reacted. He didn’t think Billie remembered that conversation. He also couldn’t stop thinking about Billie’s mom. He didn’t know what to do. She wanted to see her son now. He understood that. She’d been searching for six years and she wanted to see her baby boy.  
  
But, he needed to tell Billie. This wasn’t something he could just drop on Billie, the kid needed to prepare himself for it.  
  
He had waited tables for four hours straight before going on his break and it’d been a nice way to get out of his head. But as soon as he wasn’t doing his job, he was thinking about Billie.   
  
He was out back behind Lucky’s smoking a cigarette when he decided he needed to tell Billie that night. He couldn’t push this back. Now that he’d gotten a hold of Ollie, she needed to see him. Mike just prayed that things would go smoothly. He pictured telling Billie and getting an excited reaction. He pictured Billie’s mom walking through his front door and hugging her son and crying and happy to see him. But he knew reality wouldn’t be that nice. He knew Billie could react badly to Mike’s secret. He knew if he got them to meet up Billie’s mom might fall apart over her son’s new tortured look.  
  
Mike sighed and stubbed out his cigarette. Another thought came to mind that he didn’t want to deal with. What happened when it was all over? What happened when Billie agreed to see his mom and she came and cried and hugged? She would take him home, wouldn’t she? That was the whole idea, wasn’t it?  
  
He knew, in his heart of hearts, Mike knew that they’re reunion would be good for them. He knew that she was Billie’s real home and he would go back to her.   
  
But, he wasn’t ready to let Billie go.   
  
He didn’t think he’d ever be.  
  
-//-  
  
When Mike got home Billie was curled up in the recliner, reading Mike’s copy of The Catcher in the Rye for the third time.   
  
“Catcher in the Rye again, huh?”   
  
“I like this one,” Billie shrugged.  
  
“Yeah, I do too.”  
  
Mike went into the bedroom to change out of his work clothes. He kept playing the conversation out in his head, how he would tell Billie. He felt like he had butterflies in his stomach. His palms were sweaty like he had a job interview. Mike didn’t know if he could do this. Not yet.  
  
Maybe he could stall. Maybe he could wait a day or two longer. Keep Billie a day or two longer.  
  
When he came out of the bedroom Billie was making a sandwich, “Want one?”  
  
“Uhh, sure. Thanks.” Mike leaned against the fridge and watched him. Debating.   
  
He really didn’t want to. It wouldn’t hurt to wait a day. Could it? How pissed would Billie be when he finally told him? Hey, so, I found your mom… a week ago.  
  
Mike sighed. The sooner the better.  
  
“Are you alright?”  
  
Billie was studying him. His goddamn cute little face was making worry wrinkles at Mike. God, he didn’t want to give Billie up.  
  
“I’m fine.”   
  
Billie frowned, unconvinced, and handed Mike a turkey sandwich.  
  
“Thanks,” Mike sat down at the kitchen counter and watched Billie make another sandwich, “Billie…”  
  
“What?” Billie cried and dropped the butter knife he was using on the plate, smearing mayonnaise all over, “What did I do last night? Or say? Was I naked again?”  
  
Despite his anxiety, Mike grinned, “No, no it’s not you.”  
  
Sighing, Billie picked the knife back up, “Oh, good. That’s been bothering me all day.”  
  
Mike took a bite of his sandwich as his stress came back. He really wanted to wait. Tell Billie tomorrow.  
  
“Wait, what were you gonna say?”  
  
“Hmm?” Mike quickly took another bite and chewed slowly, biding his time.  
  
“You said it wasn’t me… if it wasn’t me then who was it? What were you going to say?”  
  
They both waited for Mike to finish. When he swallowed the sound was disturbingly loud to his ears, “Yeah, um, Billie… I’ve been,” He needed to tell him, “-sort of,” Just rip the band-aid off, “-looking for your mom.”  
  
Billie’s features smoothed, “You’ve been what?”  
  
“And I sort of found her too.”  
  
Mike watched the muscles in Billie’s face tighten. His eyebrows drew together and his eyes pinched and narrowed, “What? How?”  
  
“I looked up your serial number,” Billie’s hand covered the numbers on his forearm as Mike talked, “Her name was on your record.”  
  
Billie looked… numb. His gaze was somewhere else and Mike was afraid to snap him out of it, “Billie? She’s in New York.”  
  
His hand moved to the side of his face then, covering his scar and he nodded, “Okay.”  
  
Mike waited for something more, but nothing more came.  
  
“Bill? ‘Okay’? That’s all you have to say?”  
  
“Yeah,” He cleared his throat and dropped his hand from his face, “Okay.” Something like a smile plastered on his face before it crumbled and his eyes became glossy.  
  
Mike stood, alarmed, “Billie?”  
  
“No, I’m okay.” He sniffed and shook his head, “I’m just… wait,” his eyes shot to Mike, “You spoke with her?”  
  
“Yeah, of course.”  
  
“How did she sound? Was she okay? Did she sound upset?”  
  
“No, Billie, she wants to see you. She wants to know your okay.”  
  
Billie gave a jerky nod as a tear slid down the bridge of his nose, “Okay.”  
  
He resisted the urge to reach out and wipe the tear away and instead, Mike gave Billie a hard pat on the shoulder, “Okay.”  
  
The shorter man lurched forward a little from the pat and snorted a small laugh, “Thanks, Mike.” He surprised Mike by giving him a hug, “Thank you.”  
  
Billie’s warmth was pressed up against him and Mike felt something inside him break and shatter as he hugged the boy back. He knew this was a happy moment, but to Mike, it felt like a good-bye.


	13. Chapter 13

Billie hadn’t wanted to talk to Ollie, not over the phone. So Mike had ended up going into the hallway and calling her himself, asking her to come over and have dinner. He gave her directions and she said she’d arrive in about an hour. Mike went back inside and told Billie who started to hyperventilate. It took Mike a while to calm him down.

 

Billie was high strung the rest of the day.

 

He was cleaning the apartment, bustling around the living room polishing the lamps and the end table, the TV.

 

Mike had his cell in his hand and he watched as Billie rubbed at a smudge on the glass doors of his entertainment unit.

 

“There’s no food in the house, I’m gonna just call for a pizza…”

 

“Do you have any wood polish?”

 

“I don’t know… all my furniture is hand me down, believe me you can polish all you want it’ll still look like that.”

 

Billie went to the closet and started to pull out Mike’s vacuum cleaner, “Billie, wait I-”

 

His voice was drowned out by the motor of the vacuum, “Billie! _Billie!_ ”

 

The noise cut and Billie regarded him with wide eyes, “What?”

 

“Jesus, I need to call for pizza. She’s going to be here soon and we have no food.”

 

He looked panicked, “But…this place is a mess.”

 

Mike looked around. Over the past couple weeks Billie had kept it cleaner than he’d ever seen it, including the day Mike moved into it, “Billie its fine. She’s not going to notice if there’s a smudge on my TV.”

 

“You don’t know that. She could. She could see it and think that you don’t take care of your things,” Billie looked sadly down at the empty frame of Mike’s coffee table, “She’s going to think you broke this and that you didn’t care enough to fix it.”

 

“Billie…”

 

Billie leveled Mike with a look, “What is she going to think when she sees me, huh?”

 

Mike’s shoulders sagged, he knew this whole thing was going to be incredibly difficult for Billie, having to face his mom after everything that had been done to him, “You’ve been through a lot-”

 

“She’s going to blame _you_.”

 

Mike flinched a little, taken aback by Billie’s words, “Me? But-”

 

“Think about it Mike, when she sees me… sees _this_ ,” he gestured to the scar climbing up his neck and jaw, “She’s gonna be angry. She’s going to blame herself for letting me go, but she’s going to be _pissed_ with whoever let this happen… I know I am… and who is she going to see? Standing there with his name stamped on papers proving he owns me?”

 

Swallowing, Mike realized Billie was right. Even if he wasn’t at fault for hurting Billie he represented everyone that did.

 

“Mike… you’re _not_ the one to blame and I’m not ready to see you get hurt for it.”

 

It registered on Mike that Billie didn’t seem at all concerned what his mother was going to think about her own son, but what she thought about the man that owned him. Billie was in his own way trying to protect him. Mike wanted to laugh but it wasn’t at all funny, it was tragic and heartbreaking that Billie would want to protect Mike from all that had happened to him. It was supposed to be the other way around.

 

Billie shook his head, “Go ahead, call.”

 

He put the vacuum away.

 

 

 

Ten minutes later the intercom buzzed and Mike walked over to it, pressing the button, “Hello?”

 

“Hi, it’s Ollie. Mike?”

 

“Yup, um, c’mon up Mrs. Armstrong.” He buzzed her in and waited by the door.

 

Billie was in the shower.

 

A couple minutes later there was a knock on the door and Mike took a deep breath before opening it.

 

Ollie Armstrong was a small and unimposing woman. She looked frailer and older than Mike would have thought a woman with a nineteen year old son would have looked.

 

“Hello Mrs. Armstrong, I’m Mike,” He stuck out his hand which she shook, albeit reluctantly. She smiled tightly at him before letting her eyes scan the apartment.

 

The shower wasn’t running anymore, “He’s just changing.” Mike hurried to say, he knew she had to be anxious to see him, “Would you like some coffee or something?”

 

“No thank you.” She set her purse down on the kitchenette counter and they both stood in tense silence, there were only the sounds of Billie moving around in the bedroom.

 

Mike was just about to suggest he’d go get Billie when they heard the bedroom door creak open. He turned to look at Billie the moment he stepped into the kitchen, trying to see him the way his mother was seeing him.

 

But he didn’t think she wouldn’t notice the way his hair fell damply across his forehead, the way it stuck up in several places making him look young and carefree. Instead she would see the thick white scar that cut down his temple, down his jaw, down his neck and over his collar bones, disappearing into this shirt. She wouldn’t notice how nice he looked in clothes that fit him, how he held himself taller than the day Mike acquired him, how he looked people in the eyes. Instead she would see the deep holes in his collarbone, the sinewy thinness of his arms and wrists, the bruise on his cheek and the dark circles under his eyes.

 

She wouldn’t be proud of the way Billie looked after all he’d been through, the way Mike was. No, she’d be horrified.

 

The sharp intake of air, the moan of sadness next to him told Mike he was right.

 

“ _Oh, Billie…”_

Billie was twisting his fingers nervously in front of him, “Hi mama.”

 

She rushed past Mike and embraced her son and he saw Billie tightly hugging her back and felt a pang of jealousy he wasn’t expecting. They both were crying and Mike turned to give them privacy, feeling suddenly unwelcome in his own home.

 

Thankfully, the pizza guy buzzed on his intercom and Mike went to it as quick as his feet would carry him.

 

-//-

 

He was happy again. He was blissfully, beautifully happy in a way that he hadn’t been since he was a young boy. His mother was here, real and solid she was here holding him and telling him what a good boy he was and that everything was going to be okay now.

 

She pulled back from him and held his face and he looked into hers. She looked different. She looked old. But he probably did too.

 

“Oh, my baby,” Tears were pouring from her eyes, “What have they done to you?”

 

He tried to smile but it felt wobbly, “Its okay, mama. I’m okay.”

 

She hugged him again and her arms were too tight around him but he didn’t care, he hugged back harder.

 

She laughed and rubbed his back, “Ugh,” Ollie made a distressed noise, “You’re so thin. I can feel your ribs.”

 

For a moment he felt ashamed but then she let go and smiled at him, tears in her eyes, “I love you so much, baby, I’m so blessed to have gotten you back again,” She choked up for a moment, “To be able to hold you again.”

 

He nodded, the knot in his throat unable to let him speak and hugged her again.

 

After what felt like a long time, Billie heard someone clear his throat and jolted a little, letting go of his mother. He’d forgotten about Mike.

 

“Sorry,” Mike looked sheepish, “It’s just… pizza’s getting cold.”

 

Billie looked at his mom, noting the way her eyes tightened at Mike. He had been right then.

 

 

They took seats at the counter and started eating. Ollie explained to them how she’d finally gotten someone at the bank to tell her what organization Billie had been sold to. She’d worked three jobs at one point just to make enough money to be able to move to New York where she’d joined an abolitionists group to support her and help her track Billie down.

 

“I’d been to hundreds of establishments all over the eastern coast trying to find my sweet boy. Have some more, Billie, please,” She put another slice on Billie’s plate who was already full from the other two he’d had, “Nobody at the Orchard would tell me anything. If you were still there, if they’d sold you, who they’d sold you to. I went to every place they resold slaves, I put up flyers, I posted your picture on the M.A.S. website-”

 

“M.A.S.?” Mike asked.

 

“Mothers against slavery.” She gave Mike a hard look, a don’t-interrupt-me-or-you’ll-regret-it look. Billie flinched away from it. He’d never known his mom to give such cold looks or to be so nasty to anyone. She was a polite southern lady that went to church every Sunday morning and wished her neighbors well with a plate of cookies.

 

“Anyway, I’d gotten to thinking it was too late. That you were dead. Oh, Lord…” She smiled at Billie and reached out to stroke his face, “You look so different.” She stroked his scar with the pad of her thumb and Billie suddenly had the urge to recoil away from her.

 

“Mike,” her tone changed as she addressed him, it became a little harder, guarded, “Why don’t you tell me how… you two met?”

 

Billie looked at Mike, nervous for the man.

 

“Well, um, I first saw him at the market about a month and a half ago. He… I, um… well, first you should know, I was raised to believe slavery is wrong, okay? I had no intention of buying him, I mean, my parents were furious with me when I told them. I only did it because he needed my help-”

 

Billie watched his mother’s eyes narrow. It sent a chill down his spine, “ _Ma_ ma.”

 

They both turned to him, shocked by his accusatory tone, “What, baby?”

 

“Stop looking at him like that.”

 

“Like what?”

 

“Like… like he wants to hurt me. Like he’s not good enough for me.”

 

“Good enough for you? Billie, what are you talking about?”

 

Billie fiddled with the crust of his pizza, he wasn’t sure if he should continue with this train of thought. Especially in front of his mother. He hadn’t even thought it all through to himself yet.

 

He felt both of their eyes on him, waiting for an answer, “Mama, you have to understand… Mike is a really good guy. He saved my life, he gave me a second chance and he cares about me. _Really_ cares about me the way no one has but… well, you. And I care about him-”

 

“Billie.” Mike spit out his name, warning him not to continue.

 

“No, I care about him too. We’re friends, mama, maybe one day we’ll even be more than that-”

 

“What?” His mother sounded mortified, “Billie, stop. Just because he took you home and cared for you doesn’t mean you _care_ about him, baby. You don’t even know him.”

 

“ _You_ don’t know him.”

 

-//-

 

Mike couldn’t believe he was hearing this. He’d hoped Billie had considered them friends but was it _possible_ he could be feeling the same way that Mike felt towards him? His confession last night had certainly been taken with an untroubled sort of ease. But was it because Billie was returning his feelings? Mike had to know if what Billie was saying was true, if he meant it, or was he just trying to make him seem like a good guy in his mother’s eyes.

 

“Bill-”

 

Ollie cut Mike off, “Have you ever heard of Stockholm Syndrome, baby?”

 

“Okay, that’s not what this is.” Mike stood and folded the pizza box shut, this lady was beginning to get on his nerves.

 

“No? Because to me it looks like that’s _exactly_ what this is.”

 

Billie looked between them and spoke, “Wait, what is it?” his voice, earnestly child-like and innocent, hit him like a brick and suddenly Mike wasn’t so sure either.

 

Ollie faced her son, “It means that because you relied on Mike so much to take care of you and because he was the only constant presence in your life you began to feel things towards him. But baby, they’re not real feelings. You _think_ that you really care about him but it’s only because you don’t know any better.”

 

Mike rolled Ollie’s words over in his head. She was right. Billie couldn’t know any better, he was just a kid whose life had been stolen away and fucked over. Even if Billie said he liked him that way, he couldn’t possibly have any normal relationship with him. Mike erased any thoughts of hope at Billie’s returned feelings from his head. How could he have let himself think that?

 

Billie’s face contorted into a scowl and he stood from his chair, “No, no that’s stupid, I know what I feel. And it’s not because of some syndrome.”

 

“Billie… maybe she’s right, maybe you don’t really know how you feel right now.” Mike couldn’t look him in the eyes.

 

Ollie’s face softened as she looked at Mike, “See, he’s still just a thirteen year old boy, he’s just been damaged by so much…”

 

“I can’t believe you two. Mike, how could you think that?”

 

“She’s right, Bill. Even if you did have any feelings towards me, you’re still so young. So much younger than you actually are. I can’t take advantage of that. I’d be a monster if I did.” A part of Mike’s brain was screaming at him to shut up, let Billie talk, if Billie was going to admit to having any sort of feelings toward Mike whatsoever everything would be so perfect. But, at the same time, how could he believe any of it. What if his own feelings toward the boy were just being rubbed off and thrown back at him because its what Billie thinks he wants?

 

No, as badly as Mike wanted to hear Billie say he liked him that way, he couldn’t let it get that far. Billie had made so much progress and he realized that now he needed to let go.

 

“Billie, I think you should go home with your mom.”

 

The words came out before he realized it and the look of betrayal on Billie’s face made him want to take them back so badly. _Don’t hate me for this._

 

Ollie smiled, “That’s a wonderful idea. Billie, let’s go pack your things, baby.”

 

Billie dropped his eyes; he looked dazed as he led his mom into their bedroom.

 

Mike watched him go and blew out a shaky breath the moment he was out of sight.

 

What had he done?

 


	14. Chapter 14

His mom lived in an apartment even smaller than Mike’s. But it was cozy the way he remembered home being, she must’ve brought her things from California to fit in this tiny new home.

 

“Just drop your things anywhere. The couch is a fold out, I can sleep on it and you can have the-”  
  
“No, mama, you sleep in your own bed. I’ll take the fold out. I’ve slept on far worse.”

 

She looked at him with a sad face and he shook his head and smiled, “Its okay, the couch is perfect. Besides all your stuff is in your own bedroom, you’d be walking back and forth. And all my stuff is right here.” He grinned and dropped his duffle bag. It was just the clothes Mike had bought him, along with a few books Mike said he could have and his collar. He’d also snuck one of Mike’s t-shirts in the bottom of it.

 

They set up the fold out bed and his mom grabbed extra sheets and tucked them in before grabbing extra blankets and pillows too. They said goodnight and she gave him a kiss on the head before retreating to her room. Halfway there she stopped and turned around, “Billie, I’m so sorry I ever let this happen. I’m sorry I let them take you, I’m so sorry… when it happened… that I hit you.” She was crying and Billie quickly closed the distance and put his arms around her.

 

“It’s not your fault mama, I’m not mad. Everything’s okay now.”

 

She nodded and gave his temple another kiss, “You’re okay now.” She repeated, though Billie saw the way her eyes ran over his scar.

 

“Goodnight, mama.”

 

“Goodnight, baby.” She gave him a soft smile and went to her bedroom.

 

Billie turned to the couch and plopped on it. He thought about everything that had happened in the span of the last two months. It was crazy to think just that long ago he was starving to death in a slave market, getting beat up and fucked on a regular basis. His life hadn’t been his own until Mike had come along and saved him. Until Mike taught him to make his own decisions again, to trust again.

 

He was sorry he’d said anything about having possible feelings toward Mike. It was an impulsive outburst, a heat of the moment decision to say anything and he wished he’d kept it to himself, especially with their reactions. They had both been so ready to jump at him and tell him he was wrong, that he couldn’t possibly feel that way because he didn’t know any better. Well, there was a time when Billie didn’t know any better than Master James and he sure as shit never cared for _that_ man. But Mike was different. Mike was kind and sweet.

 

He rolled over on the fold out until he could reach his bag and pulled out the t-shirt he’d stolen from Mike. Billie realized he didn’t know if he was ever going to see the man again and that thought terrified him so much he was blinded by the sudden onslaught of tears. Burying his face into Mike’s Ramones shirt, Billie muffled his sobs so his mom wouldn’t hear.

-//-

 

Ollie held the crumpled wallet-sized photo of a smiling little boy between her fingers and fought not to cry. She ran her finger over her son’s features, drawing the scar that he now carried. She was immensely relieved to have finally found him after all these years, after being told countless times that he was probably dead.

 

He looked so different now. She shouldn’t have thought otherwise, really. But a part of her expected to see her thirteen year old little boy again, happy and smiling and healthy as ever. Ollie had tried hard not to picture her son to be damaged or broken in anyway; she couldn’t bear the thought of it. The reality of the situation had hit so much harder when she did see him, when her boy had completely changed before her eyes into a broken shell of his former self.

 

Lord, he was nineteen now. She’d missed so much of his life.

 

A tear dropped onto the photo, blurring the colors beneath it and her fingers deftly wiped it away.

 

She tucked the photo back into her wallet and crept into the living room where her son was sleeping soundly on the sofa bed. It felt like a dream to have him back in her home again.

 

She sat on her wooden coffee table and watched him sleep, studying the wrinkles and scars in his skin that were new to her.

 

Unable to help herself, she reached out and grazed his temple with the back of her knuckles. His body jerked away with a deep and sudden intake of air, eyes widening and searching the room until they settled on her.

 

“It’s just me, baby.” She whispered and let her fingers touch his hair.

 

He calmed and sunk back into the pillows, a sleepy smile gracing his face before his eyes drifted shut again.

 

Now that he was back in her life and safe with her again, Ollie never wanted to let him go.

 

-//-

 

Mike was in bed when Tré found him.

 

He sighed and sat down next to his friend’s hip, “Hey Mikey. What are you doin’?”

 

Mike sniffed, his voice thick and groggy when he responded, “Sleeping. Go away.”

 

Tré looked at the clock beside the bed, “It’s 3 in the afternoon, Mike.”

 

“…So?”

 

He knew the kid had left the other day. He’d bumped into him and his old lady when they were leaving the building. Duffle bag slung on one shoulder, the kid had looked like he’d been drafted.

 

Ms. Ollie Armstrong had introduced herself when he’d kindly asked just where the hell she was taking Billie. He thought the kid was getting stolen by how miserable he looked.

 

“You don’t think you’ll see him again?”

 

Mike shrugged under his blankets.

 

“You’re a pretty important person in his life right now, I’m sure he’ll want to see you again.”

 

Mike was quiet.

 

“Mike?”

 

His friend rolled over and regarded him with red eyes, “I don’t think I want to see him again.”

 

“What? Why?”

 

Tré watched his jaw clench a few times before responding, “Because I’m not good for him. Because I’m in love with him and he doesn’t need that right now. He needs to go back home and redo the last six years. He needs to go get a girlfriend his own age. God, Tré, the kids’… sex life or whatever is so fucked up. It was all so forced on him and he said he was starting to feel like more than a friend to me. He doesn’t even know if he’s straight or not, y’know? How could he know? What he thinks he feels for me? It’s fucking Stockholm Syndrome.”

 

Mike rolled back over onto his stomach and Tré watched him for a second before smacking him hard in the shoulder.

 

“Ow! What the fuck?” Mike flipped back over to glare at him, “What was that for?!”

 

“That’s for being an idiot!” Tré shook his head at him, “Mike, believe me when I say he’s not just some fucked up thirteen year old kid, okay?”

 

Mike sat up, “What do you mean?”

 

“I mean, getting thrown into slavery at thirteen and getting…” He grimaced, “…raped and beaten everyday does not stunt your growth! If anything it’s made him older. He’s not some helpless kiddy, he’s a survivor. He’s been cut a helluva lot deeper than either you or me, literally… and he’s got the scar to prove it. Look, I talked to him.”

 

Mike sat up, “What? When?”

 

“The other night, when he got drunk… he was telling me a lot of stuff I didn’t want to hear.” Tré scowled, remembering a particularly detailed story about his previous Master’s sexual preferences, how he liked to use humiliation and pain on his subjects. Tré shook his head, clearing the thought, “Anyway, he told me how whenever he was put in any sort of… painful situation he used to, like, remove himself from his body so to speak. He would think of his mom or he would think of himself dying and it made him feel better.”

 

“Jesus,” Mike winced and Tré shared his sympathy.

 

“But, he told me that he never really thought of being given a second chance a possibility. He talked about it like it was a dream he’d have but never truly believed could happen. Mikey, when he first woke up here he said he hated you. And feared you. He said it wasn’t until you bought him without expecting him to do things for you in return, or when you gave him his own clothes or let him read books that he finally began maybe to appreciate you, let alone trust you. And now you say that he said he might have feelings for you? That’s not some fucking syndrome Mike. Those feelings developed carefully on their own,” Tré tapped his chest, above his heart, “with real thought into who he was going to let in. So, you can’t just dismiss him because he’s been through shit. He’s put a lot of his trust in you and you’re just breaking it by pushing him out of your life.”

 

Tré ran his fingers through his hair, “Just don’t fuck this up, Mikey. You’re both allowed good things, this is it. Take it.”

 

Mike swiped at his eyes and nodded a little, “I’m sorry.”

 

“Hey, don’t apologize to me. Go call him or something.” He grinned, “He can thank me later.”

 

Mike gave him a weak smile in return, “Who would’ve thought, Tré Cool, the relationship guru.”

 

He laughed, “I should put that on my résumé.”

 

-//-

 

She wanted to take him shopping, pick out more clothes than just the handful of black t-shirts and jeans Mike had bought.

 

“Mama, I have to wear it.”

 

Ollie looked down at the leather collar in her hands, her son was holding his hand out for it and she wanted to cry. He was _asking_ for it, he was actually asking to wear the awful thing, “How can you…” She didn’t know what to say, she was unwilling to accept this new life her son had. A life where he had to walk around wearing a collar like a dog. She had done this to him. Ollie felt her eyes blur.

 

“Mama, please don’t.” The collar was plucked from her hands and Billie was hugging her. He felt so thin, so fragile, “I have to, okay? If I don’t they’ll take me away from you again.”

 

Her heart seized and she took a deep breath to control her tears, “…Okay, fine.” She let go of him and watched as he clipped the blasted thing around his throat.

 

“Don’t look at me like that mama, it’s the only way to keep me safe.”

 

Ollie quickly nodded and gathered her coat and purse, “Okay let’s go.”

 

Neither of them heard the phone ring after Ollie shut the door behind them.

 

-//-


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really hope this chapter doesn't feel rushed... it's something I tend to do when my stories near their end.

When they left, Billie stuck close to his mom, still nervous to be outside since his last encounter.

 

They wound through sidewalk traffic and to a bus stop where they boarded and Billie sat by the window, watching the people walking around on the street. He didn't notice any other slaves.

 

The bus stopped a few blocks later and they were dropped off at a mall. His mom laid her hand in the crook of his elbow when they got off the bus and he smiled at the gesture. For a moment he felt like the young gentleman he wished he was, leading his mother that way, rather than a slave in a collar.

 

His mom had stopped to browse in an Old Navy store and Billie followed her in, his eyes taking in the abundance of mannequins with unease.

 

“ _Ollie?_ ” His mom stopped to turn around as a woman in a hot pink puffer jacket called out again, “Ollie! Hi! How are you?”

 

His mom gave a surprised shout of, "Paula!" and the two women were hugging.

 

The Paula woman was babbling non-stop about how someone named Janice had gotten a divorce but stopped the moment she spotted Billie standing uncomfortably off to the side, “oh,” her chattering came to a halt.

 

He suddenly felt self-conscious and stuffed his hands in the pockets of the grey fleece his mom let him borrow.

 

“Paula, I want you to meet someone,” His mom turned to him, resting a gentle hand on his arm and pulling him forward, “This is Billie Joe, he’s my son.”

 

There was a tense silence before the Paula woman's shocked face melted into a warm smile, "Oh." She folded her hands neatly in front of her and Billie noted the way her eyes began to tear, "Hello Billie, I'm Paula."

 

He gave a flicker of a smile in greeting, wary of her emotional reaction.

 

His mom turned to him then and explained, "Paula is in the M.A.S. group with me. She lost her daughter to slavery."

 

A tenseness Billie didn't realize he'd had loosened at his mom's words, "I'm so sorry, ma'am." He said, his voice soft.

 

She gave him a watery smile and he immediately felt guilty for the sadness and loss that had swept over her upon seeing him. Especially since he knew he didn't look like the poster-boy for slavery recovery, quite the opposite.

 

"Why don't we go get some lunch and catch up?" his mom suggested and they made their way out of the store and to the mall's food court.

 

-//-

 

Mike pressed the 'end call' button on his phone and frowned. He'd called three times, why was no one answering?

 

Since Tré had come over and knocked some sense into him, Mike felt the need to talk to Billie, to apologize to him for everything. But no one was answering. What if Ms. Armstrong was blocking his calls. What if they were moving. Back to California. What if she took him away and he never saw Billie again after all?

 

Mike grabbed his coat while stuffing his cell phone in his pocket. He couldn't just sit in his apartment all day, letting his negative thoughts run rampant. He needed to get out. He needed to not think.

 

He walked along side streets until eventually he realized his feet were taking him in the direction of the marketplace. Mike cursed and turned around. That was the last place he wanted to go right now.

 

Taking out his phone, Mike checked for any missed calls. None. He sighed and kept walking. He wished he knew where Ms. Armstrong lived, he wished he'd asked her but he'd said nothing as Billie Joe packed up a duffle bag and headed out the front door. He'd been too afraid to say anything.

 

How could he have been so stupid? Billie was the best thing that had ever happened to him and he'd let the boy just turn and walk away.

 

Mike sighed when he realized this time his feet had taken him to his parents' house. He glanced up at the two-story brick building and debated going inside.

 

Once upon a time he used to seek their advice, but now? With everything that had gone down when they'd met Billie? With the silence that had grown between him and his parents since that day... Mike blew out a breath and walked up to the front door.

 

He prayed his father wasn't home.

 

-//-

 

Billie returned from mall with his head full of depressing thoughts. The 'catching up' that his mother and the Paula woman did ended up being mostly a discussion about him. If he hadn't thought about just how much his absence had affected his mother he was definitely thinking about it now; and all it made him want to do was curl up in a ball and forget his miserable life and how it only made everyone around him miserable too.

 

The whole lunch he had to listen to his mother cry and talk about how lonely and frightened she'd felt, how guilty and worried. Ultimately how blessed she was to have him returned - all of this spoken in front of this woman whose daughter had been ripped away in such similar circumstances, who had gone through what he'd gone through, or worse and who was either dead or wishing she was dead and this very moment.

 

Billie barricaded himself in the bathroom the moment they'd gotten home and sat on the lip of the tub, his head in his hands, wanting so badly to cry but wishing he was stronger. How fucking fair was it that he was here? How fair was it that his tormented life of slavery was over only for him to suddenly feel the guilt of everyone else not as fortunate. Every little girl and boy stolen away from their parents, still being whipped and beaten, touched and molested and cowering in fear every day? Every parent lost and on the brink of taking their own life to stop thinking about the pain their child is going through.

 

He was grinding his teeth, all but ripping out his hair as his thoughts tormented him.

 

The knock on the door startled him so much he almost fell backward into the tub, "Billie, honey?"

 

It took a moment to swallow everything down before Billie answered with a shaky, "Yeah?"

 

"Um... I have to go out again, I'm washing your new clothes. Could you dry them in about an hour? There's quarters on the kitchen table."

 

"Yeah, sure."

 

There was a pause before his mother added, "You've been in there for a while, is everything alright?"

 

"I'm fine, mama." He bit out and prayed she didn't press him about it.

 

There was a tense silence on the other side of the door before he faintly heard his mother say, "Okay," and her footsteps retreat.

 

Billie sighed and squeezed his eyes shut. He wasn't happy. He was home again, safe and loved, and he wasn't happy. How could he be? Everything was different. His mom was older, the lines in her face showed every day she cried when he was gone, every day she blamed herself for his enslavement. She touched him like he was glass, like he would shatter beneath her if she held on too tight.

 

And Mike.... Mike was gone. An ache spread in Billie's chest and he pressed his knuckles into his eyelids until his vision turned white. Mike didn't want him anymore.

 

Swallowing back the lump forming in his throat, Billie let out an angry and desperate moan. _How_ could he have been so stupid to believe that _anyone_ would _ever_ want him again? His fingers clawed at the scar on his face and Billie clenched his teeth in an effort to hold back tears.

 

He was starting to wish he'd died at the market. Starting to wish for blessed silence in his head.

 

-//-

 

Mike sat gingerly on the bar stool in his parents' kitchen, his gaze swinging to his mother... then to his father... then back again.

 

"So, you're just...okay with it now?"

 

His mother nodded and tucked a long strand of brown hair behind her ear, "We have _no_ excuse for the way we acted... what you're doing is amazing Michael. You're saving that boy's life - I'm just so ashamed I didn't see it that way before."

 

"I don't understand," Mike scratched his ear, "What caused this change of heart?"

 

"Well..." He watched his mom twist her fingers in front of her chest, she looked so young and unsure. For a moment he felt like the parent to his mom and dad.

 

"You know Jim from next door?" His dad cut in.                                        

 

"Yeah, sure." Mike could picture the man he'd only met a handful of times, his parents had moved into this house shortly after he himself had moved out.

 

"Well, as it turns out, he was a rescued slave."

 

Mike felt his eyebrows raise in surprise, the guy was old... older than his parents. He'd never known anybody that age that wasn't a free man.

 

"How?" Mike started to ask.

 

"His sister paid his debt and freed him. We had him over for dinner the other night, started talking about your boy and our... _anger_ at what we thought you had done." His mom spoke, shaking her head as she did.

 

"Boy, did we get a lecture... son, we didn't realize how much you're helping this kid. It's not a lost cause... it's never a lost cause. No one can ever be too far gone to save. Thanks to you he can start to relearn what it means to be free, he can live to be as old as Jim, start a family. Jim sat us down and told us how his life had been turned around, how he used to be terrified to do anything other than what he was told and how grateful he is now that he looks back on how hard the people around him tried to help. That little slave you rescued, he can probably be saved too. Maybe you really are helping him."

 

"We'd actually like to come over and apologize to him. To both of you. We were so wrong..." his mother said.

 

"Wow..." Mike was a little speechless, of course his parents' would listen to _Jim_ the next door neighbor and not their own fucking son. He felt a little stir of resentment at his parents for that, but pushed it aside, "Well your timing couldn't be better." Mike stood from the bar stool and crossed his arms over his chest, "Billie's not living with me anymore."

 

"What, why?" His mom looked frightened, perhaps she'd thought her son had listened to them and had done away with the slave.

 

"No, mom, I gave him back to his family." Mike shook his head and stared at his feet, "And now..." He let the sentence hang.

 

He heard his mom's 'aww honey' and his dad awkwardly clear his throat before silently making an escape. This was quickly turning from a discussion of morals to a petty heartbreak pep talk in a couple uncomfortable seconds.

 

He felt his mom's arm on his elbow and looked up at her. She was his mom again, always willing to comfort and listen, not this stranger he'd seen her as since she'd shunned him for taking in a stray, "Oh Michael, you miss him? Don't you?"

 

Mike turned and hugged her, smelling her sweet perfume and wishing he was a kid again. Mumbling into the fabric on her shoulder Mike said, "I don't know what to do, mom."

 

-//-

 

When Billie emerged from the bathroom, his mom's apartment was dark and quiet. He stood in the hallway for a while, his eyes scanning the knick knacks on the shelves, pictures on the walls. Shuffling into the kitchen, Billie's eyes caught on the block of kitchen knives then.

 

He pictured himself walking to them, taking the biggest one in his hand and pulling it from the block. It would feel heavy in his palm and he would watch as he aligned the blade to the scarred skin on his wrist. It would only take some pressure, just enough to push and break skin, just enough to push and slice veins, just enough to push and watch his life flow into his hands, through his fingers. It would hurt. He imagined it would hurt a lot, but maybe eventually the pain would fade, maybe eventually things would quiet. Maybe it would be worth it.

 

Billie blinked. The plastic hilt of the knife was in his hand, ready to be pulled from the wooden block. With a sound of disgust he released it and stumbled backward, his butt hitting the kitchen table. He slumped against it and held his wrists up. The flesh was scarred from years of shackles.

 

If he had ever wanted to kill himself, he would have done it when he belonged to Master James. The truth was, he was too scared to die. Too afraid that what waited for him after this life could only be worse.

 

He braced his hands on the kitchen table and felt something cold and hard beneath his palm. Turning around, Billie saw a small pile of quarters. Oh, right. Laundry.

 

He stuffed them in his pocket and left the apartment, heading down two flights of stairs to the first floor where the washers and dryers were.

 

Flicking on the light to the laundry room, Billie navigated toward the far end where a washer sat quiet and tried the door. Inside, his new clothes were in a wet tangle. Someone came into the room behind him and started throwing stuff into a washer. Billie ignored them for the better part and thought about what he had to do to make his life less miserable. He couldn't let his mom see him like this. He had to seem well adjusted and happy or he feared she would break down the way she did in front of Paula just this morning.

 

Billie threw the wet clothes into a dryer where they landed with a heavy plop. Slamming the door shut he paused, quarters hovering over their slots in his fingers. God, he couldn't bear to see her break down like that again. If he acted normal she would have to too, right? They'd ignore the elephant in the room and talk about TV shows and what's for dinner and how is the weather. Let's face it, they'd never be able to come up with money to pay off his debt, he'd be a slave forever. He'd be a burden to his mother for the rest of her life. And he would sit on the couch and smile for the rest of his. Like a fucking useless pet.

 

Dropping the quarters in, Billie pushed 'Start' on the dryer and turned. His heart stopped.

 

A man was picking up his empty laundry basket and leaving the laundry room. But, no.  No. It couldn't be... he was...

 

Billie felt ice slither down his veins as he forced his legs to follow.

 

He knew that face. It was the one that'd ruined his.

 

Master James.


	16. Chapter 16

He was dead.

 

How could this be? Master James was dead... wasn't he?

 

Billie knew what he saw, knew what he felt.

 

Quietly, he followed the man up the flight of stairs to his apartment and watched him go in. The door clicked shut but Billie never heard it lock.

 

He waited just outside the door, listening.

 

What was he doing here?

 

He had been told Master James had died of a stroke two months after he'd sold Billie, but they were wrong.

 

They had to be. He was here.

 

The bastard was here, he was alive.

 

Was he?

 

Billie let his thoughts flip back and forth. Did he believe what he was told or did he believe what he'd seen? Could they have been lying? Did he really see what he thought he saw?

 

He dug his fingers into his hair, nails scratching at his scalp and his thumb brushed over the raised skin of his scar, a twinge of pain blossomed at his temple.

 

Master James' face rose in his mind and a single thought came to him. _I'm going to kill that man._

 

Billie reached out and opened the door to the apartment.

 

-//-

 

Mike said goodbye to his parents before he started to make his way back home. His mind was still spinning from how fast they had decided to change their minds on the whole slave thing.

 

Admittedly, he was still bitter by the fact that they'd listened to some stranger over their own son. Like they hadn't believed in him enough to trust he was making the right decisions. It hurt.

 

Everything hurt.

 

Mike pulled out his phone to check for any missed calls.

 

Zero.

 

He shoved it back into his pocket with a pathetic groan. He missed Billie. The thought that he had just thrown their friendship away, that he'd left Billie with a woman determined to keep them apart terrified him.

 

It left a huge, painful chasm in the pit of his stomach, in his heart, everywhere.

 

His fingers were clutching the smooth plastic of his phone, thinking about the last thing his mother had said before he'd left his parent's house. She had told him to listen to his heart and that it would always lead him in the right directions.

 

And all his heart wanted was Billie

 

Mike pulled out his phone again, checking for missed calls he knew weren't there. When he glanced back up from his phone, Mike gasped at the sight in front of his apartment building.

 

"Ms. Armstrong?" Mike jogged toward her, quickly closing the distance, "What are you doing here? Is Billie ok?"

 

"Mike, yeah. He's fine. Um, I just... I came here to apologize."

 

"Apologize?"

 

She looked so unsure of herself, her purse clutched in front of her with mittened hands. Mike almost felt bad.

 

"I shouldn't have treated you the way I did. It's not your fault. None of it is. I was looking to place blame and- and I shouldn't have put it on you. You brought him back to me," A tear slid down her face and she quickly reached up to wipe it away, " _I'm_ the one that pushed him away in the first place, I'm to one that- that did this... that-"

 

"Hey, come on now, it's not your fault either." Mike spoke up, not really knowing how to comfort this woman that had been so quick to judge him before.

 

A silence fell between them and Mike felt the words fighting in his throat, the question he wanted to ask. Could he see Billie again?

 

Ollie spoke first, "He's quiet. He hasn't really said much to me. I think..." she took a deep breath before continuing, "I think you need to come back and see him."

 

Mike felt his eyebrows raise and jumped on the opportunity she was offering, "Yeah, yeah of course. I actually was hoping to see him again. I... I didn't mean to push him away the way I did."

 

Ollie gave a small smile and a nod, "Okay then. Let's go?"

 

Mike gave an eager nod in return and led Ollie to his truck once he'd found out she'd taken a taxi.

 

He was excited to see Billie again.

 

-//-

 

Billie waited only a few moments before opening the door enough just for him to slip in.

 

The apartment was laid out very similar to his mom's, if perhaps just a big larger. It was dark and quiet, mostly quiet, Billie observed. There was just the low sound of a television playing in another room.

 

Billie quietly made it to the kitchen, his eyes searching until he spotted a serrated knife at the bottom of the kitchen sink.

 

He plucked it out, fist tightening around the handle as he turned and made his way toward the sounds of the television.

 

_He was going to kill Master James_

He was going to make this man pay for the pain he'd caused him. For scarring him and then dumping him at the market to rot away like trash.

 

Billie's fingers tightened around the hilt of the knife, his palm beginning to sweat around the plastic.

 

He pictured himself carving the blade into Master James' face, ripping the skin and smearing blood into the man's eyes. Laughing as he dug the serrated edge of the knife down over bone, tearing, gouging, destroying-

 

His own scar suddenly started throbbing, the pain bright and fresh in his memory and his grip on the knife loosened.

 

What was he thinking?

 

He couldn't do this.

 

He wasn't a monster.

 

Billie stared down at the knife in his fist, blanching as his mind supplied him with the image of blood dripping from its blade.

 

He was better than this.

 

His eyes slid shut against the dying fumes of his anger. He was better than Master James.

 

A startled squeak of a sound caught his attention then and Billie opened his eyes to see the man standing five feet in front of him, a gun pointed at his face.

 

"Drop the knife." The man said shakily and Billie's blood went cold with the realization that it was not Master James he'd followed from the laundry room, but just a man that resembled him.

 

How could he have not seen that? He'd let himself get so blinded by his anger...

 

He dropped the knife instantly, the blade clattering on the hard wood floor and Billie held his hands up, "Please, I'm sorry... I thought you were... I didn't... I'm sorry." He stuttered out and felt his heart mirror his voice as he pictured all that would follow.

 

The man calling the cops, the cops showing up to take him away, his mother returning home just to watch them send him away again, this time somewhere she can't reach. This time somewhere Mike won't save him.

 

Billie watched all these events unfurl in his mind's eye, knowing he'd really fucked things up this time.

 

But what he didn't see coming was the quick flash of the gun firing and the shock of realizing a bullet had just buried itself in his chest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hiiii.... don't hate meeee..... love you guys bye!


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Look! I updated! After... like a freaking year and a half... heh heh... sorry it's crap. I haven't really read over it, it's probably full of like typos and terribleness. But I just wanna freaking finish it for you guys!!! Enjoy!

"Take a left here and it's the third building on the left."

 

Mike turned the steering wheel, following Ollie's directions and frowned as police cars with swirling lights came into view.

 

"You don't think-"

 

Mike's question was cut off by the sound of an ambulance screaming its way toward Ollie's complex and the two of them quickly shared a look before getting out of the truck and running up to the building.

 

"Please stay back!" An officer cut them off, holding his arms out to keep them from going any further while EMT's pulled a gurney out of the back of the ambulance and rushed inside.

 

"Wait, what's going on?" Ollie cried the same time Mike shouted, "Who is it?" needing to hear that whoever that ambulance was for that it wasn't for Billie.

 

"Folks, please. Let us do our job."

 

"This is my building," Ollie was saying, "What's happening?"

 

"Ma'am-"

 

"My _son_ is in there!" She screamed and Mike watched the man's features turn sympathetic.

 

"Home invasion, the intruder was shot. Your son is probably fine, alright ma'am?"

 

 _Shot?_ Mike tried to picture a scenario in which Billie would get himself into that much trouble. The policeman was probably right, Billie should be safe, holed up in Ollie's apartment.

 

It still didn't place him at ease though until he saw the boy himself.

 

They waited for what felt like forever just outside the building. A group had gathered, curious rubberneckers forming up against the wooden barricade the police had placed down to keep the onlookers away.

 

Eventually, the EMTs returned, pulling the stretcher back out of the building, this time swarming around the person on top of it.

 

Mike was craning his neck to get a good look and felt his heart plunge at the horrified cry Ollie let out next to him.

 

"Billie!" She was screaming, fighting her way over the barricade and Mike followed, his ears ringing with static.

 

He watched numbly as they let her clamber up into the ambulance but held him back with hands to his chest. He heard himself talking, asking in a calm voice, "What hospital?" while he watched EMTs use a resuscitator on Billie.

 

The next moments happened in slow motion as Mike got in his truck and started following the ambulance. The image of the EMTs working on Billie played again and again in a loop in Mike's head before he realized why he was doing it. His brain was trying to tell him something his heart wouldn't listen to earlier.

 

The resuscitator they were using... that meant Billie wasn't breathing.

 

Mike pulled off into the hospital parking lot and curled over his steering wheel, deep sobs wracking his body as he realized that Billie might be dead.

 

That he had just lost everything.

 

 

 

 

The night dragged on. Hours went by and still Mike and Ollie sat in the waiting room.

 

They dozed, in uncomfortable chairs and in the harsh glow of the hospital lights. They made trips to vending machines, trips to the bathroom, trips to the cafeteria for bad coffee. Mike stood up and stretched his legs, his back, his neck before folding himself right back into his chair again, warm and uncomfortable as it had been for the last eight hours.

 

Until finally, at about three in the morning, while Ollie was asleep in her chair and Mike's eyes were glazed over as he stared at the mounted television, someone came into the waiting room and told them that Billie was alive.

 

And Mike broke down into tears with the relief of hearing those words.

 

 

 

Later, they sat around Billie's hospital bed, he was unconscious since surgery and still needing the help of a ventilator to breathe... but alive.

 

"I just don't get it..." he was saying, his eyes trained on Billie's rising and falling chest, "Why would he break into someone apartment? It makes no sense."

 

Ollie was shaking her head, "I don't know. I should not have left him though. I knew something was wrong... he was so quiet. I shouldn't have left him..."

 

She'd been repeating herself for the last fifteen minutes, Mike had given up trying to console her.

 

They'd gotten lucky that no one seemed to realize Billie was a slave until halfway through the surgery. Mike couldn't imagine what would have happened if it'd been like that first night he found the boy. Everyone refusing to help him because of a few numbers on his arm.

 

"At least that guy's not pressing charges." Mike said, for lack of anything else to say and Ollie stopped berating herself just to glare at him.

 

It was really the least of their worries right now, but it was a small miracle.

 

After surviving a bullet to the chest, a collapsed lung and muscle and tissue damage Billie could have been taken away from them and placed back in the system where they couldn't hope to save him.

 

Apparently the guy hadn't meant to pull the trigger. He was scared and it was an accident. He felt so mortified he even promised to help with the medical bills.

 

Mike carefully took one of Billie's hands in his and squeezed it, if there was one word he could use to describe the boy at this time it was definitely 'fighter'.

 

-//-

 

Billie was rolling on the waves of consciousness, the tide taking him up just enough to catch a glimpse of reality, before pulling him back under where it was dark and quiet and he was blissfully unaware.

 

But eventually he was washed ashore, carried to the hot, gritty sand and the painfully bright light of ...of the hospital room.

 

He blinked sluggishly, his eyelids only able to crack open enough to make out the blurry image of his surroundings

 

He felt a phantom breath keeping him alive, pushing air into his lungs at a steady rhythm.

 

Familiar faces swirled in his vision, looking concerned before they disappeared from view, eclipsed by the black of his eyelids.

 

He didn't know how long this lasted, how long he stayed just on the edge of the waves feeling like a fish out of water, gulping for the water once confronted with air.

 

He was choking, struggling to keep his body alive, struggling to get water into... no, air... he needed air.

 

There was beeping and voices and hands on him and something was sliding out of his throat, painfully dragging along his larynx until finally it was out and he was choking on air, coughing and gulping in beautiful oxygen.

 

He was awake.

 

Fully this time. His eyes opened enough to see his mom, worried creases etched into the lines of her face.

 

He tried to say her name but his throat didn't work. He coughed instead.

 

Nurses in pink and green scrubs fussed over him, over the IV line in his arm, shone a light in his eye, and checked his pulse with their cold fingers pressed into his neck, into his wrist.

 

Eventually, they cleared out of the way and Billie was enveloped by his mother's arms, her warm tears dripping into his hair.

 

With the pressure of her hug came the sharp, thumping pain in his chest and he winced, hissing at it while his mom quickly backed off.

 

"Sorry, sorry," She was saying, her hands fluttering around him like butterflies, "How do you feel, baby?"

 

His throat was raw so he shook his head, _not good_.

 

What the hell had happened?

 

Why was he in the hospital?

 

What had happened to-

 

He remembered the man with the gun. The image rose sharp and fast in his mind.

 

Creeping through Master James' apartment. Only it hadn't been Master James.

 

Master James _was_ dead. They hadn't lied to him.

 

He'd made a mistake.

 

The pain pulsing in his chest agreed, a big mistake.

 

Tears sprang to his eyes at the memory. At what he'd almost done.

 

He deserved to be shot.

 

Suddenly the door to his room opened and Mike was there with two white Styrofoam cups in his hands, looking unshaved and haggard.

 

And Billie's heart began thumping so hard his damn heart rate monitor started going off the fritz.

 

" _Mike!_ " he mouthed, and the Styrofoam cups were dropped onto a table in favor of running to his side.

 

And Mike was there, above him, around him, his warm hands on top of him, gentle and careful where they landed. His tired blue eyes were wet with tears, "Billie, you're awake."

 

All he could do was give a watery smile before a confused nurse came into the room, glancing at the activity on his heart rate monitor.

 

"Sorry," Mike was apologizing, "We're okay in here."

 

She glanced at him and he nodded his consent before she left and it was just the three of them again.

 

"Mike." he tried to say but ended up coughing instead. He never thought he'd see the man again. He'd thought that Mike was finished with him, out of his life forever.

 

"Don't try to talk, Bill. I'm just so happy to see you." Mike's warm hand closed over his own and Billie smiled.

 

-//-

 

Later, when Billie had rested more and enough of his strength returned that he could talk, Mike and Ollie sat down to ask him what had happened.

 

Billie licked his dry lips, “I followed him,” he started and felt his face begin to warm from how shameful he felt, “I thought he was… he looked like Master James.”

 

“Who-” his mom started and Mike cut her off with an angry growl, “He’s the bastard responsible for all the scars on your son’s body.”

 

Billie dropped his gaze to where his fingers were plucking a loose thread in the hospital sheets, not wanting to see whatever new look of horror might be plastered on his mother’s face, or the look of murderous rage on Mike’s.

 

“I followed him,” he said again, “into his apartment and-and I was so angry… I grabbed a knife and I wanted to hurt him. I wanted to make him pay. But… it wasn’t him.” Billie felt his throat tighten, “God… I almost…I feel like a monster.”  He looked away, unable to meet the eyes of his loved ones. He didn’t want to see the accusatory looks, the disappointment.

 

He felt a hand on top of his own and looked up to see his mother, “Oh, Billie,” she said and her eyes were surprisingly understanding, “You have such a kind heart, I know you. I know the boy I raised and you are far too good to be a monster.”

 

Billie sniffed and looked away from her, what did she know? A lot has happened since he was with her, a lot has changed. He changed.

 

His eyes met Mike’s and those icy blue eyes were looking at him almost in awe, “She’s right, Bill. Even after all the evil you’ve seen there’s no way you could hurt anybody. That’s what I…” He watched Mike’s cheeks tinge pink and the man cleared his throat before continuing, “That’s what I love about you.”

 

Despite himself, Billie felt a smile crack his lips before he sobered himself to the moment, “I’m so sorry I scared you guys.”

 

“Oh, it’s okay,” his mom was saying and rubbed his arm. He knew she had to be angry but was keeping it to herself. The look on Mike’s face said he wasn’t too happy about it either.

 

“We just want you to get better.” Mike said instead, “so you can come home.”

 

His mom nodded in agreement and Billie just looked between the two of them, wondering which one of them he called home.


End file.
